Ml

USE OF THE DOUBLE IN A PRODUCTION OF

THE EXERCISE

by

MICKEY D. BEST B.A.E.

A THESIS

IN

THEATRE ARTS

Submitted to the Graduate Faculty of Texas Tech University in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

MASTER OF FINE ARTS

Approved

Accepted

May, 1990

'•* ••»..»• r3

Cok>. ^

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ii

I. INTRODUCTION I

Notes 3

II. THE EXERCISE 4

The Process of Rehearsal 4

Notes II

III. MISE-EN-SCENE 12

Objective Unity 12

Notes 15

IV. CONCLUSION 16

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 18

APPENDICES

A. SCRIPT OF THE EXERCISE 20

B. LETTER GRANTING PERMISSION TO INCLUDE COPYRIGHTED SCRIPT AS APPENDIX 78

111 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank Dr. George Sorensen for his extensive support and guidance of this thesis project. I also am grateful to Dr. Mary

Ann Mitchell for her service on my committee and Dr. Forrest Newlin for his evaluative responses to my ideas for the staging of the play,

11 CHAPTER I

INTRODUCTION

In an ever-changing theatre, the director has the task of searching for truth in production. Through experimentation and con­ stant evaluation, he challenges creativity at every level. The director's freedom to work closely with designers, technicians and performers, i.e., within a unified whole, and subsequently the actor's ability to perform with tested methodology, are certainly achievements of great importance in the innovative processes of the theatre. The overall manner in which the director approaches the work must reflect this ensemble effort. Although all plays differ in their intentions and creative purposes and because conceptual attacks on the part of the director may differ accordingly, the fact remains that the reality of the play must be maintained. Consequently, the director, having the objective voice in production, must approach the process with some idea of what he would like to accomplish and what tools he will select to shape the whole.

One method of approach that the director has at his disposal is the use of what is known as the "Double." Antonin Artaud first in­ troduced the idea of the Double as he worked to establish a true form 2 that, in his words, "utilized a language of movement in space." In this form of theatre, actors would not play the play verbally. What ultimately is required is a process of performance that demands the use of sound, shape, music, and movement to bring about communicative exchange between the actor and spectator. Artaud, in his treatise de­ scribing the theatre as a double of itself, explains this notion when he states, "It is not a question of whether the physical language of theatre is capable of achieving the same psychological resolutions as the language of words, a spatial language [can] attain with more pre- 3 cision than they."

The Texas Tech University Lab Theatre production of The Exercise utilized much of the process of the Double. The director consciously chose not to adhere to the ideals of non-dialogue so as not to separ­ ate the playwright's overall intention of meaning from the directorial approach. The dialogue is important to the play. It is possible that a number of specific character exchanges depend upon verbal means for completion. The material that is included in this thesis, however, will describe a variety of processes that were implemented to achieve the goals sought in the development of The Exercise. The following chapter contains an overall description of rehearsal methods which were incorporated to establish the use of the Double as a means of theatre. Examples of rehearsal techniques are given to demonstrate the process as it occurred. The third chapter serves to clarify the directorial approach by discussing the incorporation of objective unity for the rehearsal and performance process. Specifically, the unit describes the director's process in the production. The thesis will conclude with statements of the viability of the approach taken. Notes

Antonin Artaud, The Theatre and Its Double, trans. Mary Caroline Richards (New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1958), p.12. 2 Artaud, p. 72. 3 Eric Sellin, The Dramatic Concepts of Antonin Artaud (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1968), p. 94-95 CHAPTER II

THE EXERCISE

The Process of Rehearsal

The directorial decision to double cast each role the The Exercise presented certain immediate limitations and challenges to the actors.

Nevertheless, in keeping with the conceptual approach to the produc­

tion, it was the conviction of the director that actor preparation could not take place without accounting for this duality. Eric Sellin,

in his analysis of artaud's theories, supports this premise when he

states, "If the theatre is a mirror held up to life, there is also,

simultaneously, shadows cast through and beyond that mirror. The dra­ matic event is a continuous interplay between the spectator and the great magic element behind the play itself. The double must become 4 one to give expression." Exactly what interactions take place between

the actors and spectators and what truths may be found is entirely de­ pendent upon the successful matching of this element of duality. For

this act of theatre to exist, the duality of the performer must be achieved before the communicative relationship between the actor and

spectator can take place. Furthermore, the directorial approach to

the context of the play demanded that each action put forth by the actors must first be tested for workability through means of experimen­ tation. Exercises utilized by the actors provided this testing ground. Each and every period of rehearsal took the form of a series of exercises specifically designed to teach the actor to learn to com­ municate with movement and form in space. Dialogue only supported the physical activity. Such limitations were placed upon the actors be­ cause the very basis for the use of the Double is a reliance upon a means of expression not dependent upon spoken dialogue. In reality,

the actors communicated physically to give dialogue, as a support mechanism, exact meaning in terms of the production approach.

Extensive writings on the art of the theatre have indicated that

the exercise mode is necessary to round out the craft of the actor.

In The Empty Space, Peter Brook discusses various reasons for the ac­

tor's incorporation of exercises in his preparation in order to serve

necessary dramatic ends in performance. In the section concerned with

the immediacy of theatre. Brook states, "The purpose of such exercises

is ensemble playing, ensemble creation."

Through the periods of rehearsal for the laboratory production

of The Exercise, it became obvious that the actors could not survive

in the realm of the Double without a method of first evaluating their

work. Within these early stages, the director noted an almost open

refusal on the part of the actor to experiment with his counterpart,

or double, in the expression of the physical action. The classical

training of the actors seemed to have somewhat limited them in this

respect. It was unnatural to work with a "double," especially one

that would serve physically to clarify action. Although initially

troubling to the director, the process of urging the actors to attempt

the new methodology was successful. In process, the director had consistently assured the performers that the attempt on their part to play the character actions successfully was the key to acquiring the means by which they would perform the Double as it was intended. In­ novations of performance to which the actors had become accustomed were viewed as dispensable. No longer could the artists rely upon the written script as a sole means of expression. Support for this stand is cited by Charles Marowitz, when he states, "In this, the actor must be somewhat dissatisfied with common innovations and search for the new methods of approach to even the slightest elements of action."

In process, each actor was paired with his or her relative coun­ terpart. The director then issued simple statements to each of the actors. Upon receiving their messages, instructions were given to the actors to relay the content of the statements to each counterpart.

The counterparts in turn were to represent the given statement or mes­ sage through means of an activity. For example, in the early stages of rehearsal, the director used simple statements that easily could be reflected through a physical activity, such as a greeting. The actors would not only express a verbal message, but the counterparts were re­ quired to perform the message physically. This task, though in reality extremely basic, served to heighten the actor's awareness of communication on the physical level as it was supported by the spoken word. As the rehearsals grew in scope, more difficult messages were utilized to expand the actor's ability. These necessary steps were completed when appropriate action was demonstrated by the counterpart.

As the actors became more adept at communicating in this manner, they were given the freedom to experiment with dialogue, but only in support of the physical action. Eventually, the entire rehearsal pro­ cess hinged upon this series of exercises to establish the atmosphere within which the Double could be served. Early into this stage, the director made the decision, as well, to allow the actors to perform both the focus performers and counterparts, even into the actual per­ formance. Communicating in this manner organically brought about an approach that structured the production process and directed the phy­ sical action for the play.

The actors were required, by necessity, to rehearse and make full use of the context of the play. Given the ideal that the actors were dependent upon the series of exercises to create a valid system of communication, it became apparent that an obvious opportunity was at hand. This was due in large part to the variety of exercises used.

Since the production was rehearsed in a five-week schedule, the direc­ tor divided the rehearsals into specific sections of exercise formats.

Some flexibility was given to the progression, based upon the actor's achievements. The first two weeks were spent upon simplistic message expressions, wherein the counterparts relayed a physical depiction of action. The following weeks were spent upon the relationship of actor- counterpart character action and its validation. In this, the counterparts presented physical action that was clarified through the inclusion of dialogue. The counterparts were faced with the task of rehearsing behaviors that were appropriately supported by the script content. The most difficult process at this stage involved the con­ tinuance of action by the counterparts. A very real temptation existed to withhold the physical means of expression. Most often. 8 when this kind of problematic situation occurred, the actors were at­ tempting to involve themselves in the reverse process of creating physical action to support dialogue, at the onset of such events, the

rehearsal was stopped. When the physical demands were corrected, and

the dialogue correctly fit the physical expression, the process was

permitted to continue.

It will be helpful to cite specific examples from the process of

rehearsal, and ultimately from the production performance, in order to

further clarify exactly how the Double was utilized. The first relates

specific exchanges that occurred at the onset of the play's initial

exercise. The second will relate behaviors that existed as the double

process emerged at the point of the play's conclusion.

The beginning exhchange starts at the point that the focus or

verbalizing couple has begun the exercise of giving birth. The actress

portraying the mother and the actor portraying the fetus sets up the

following dialogue:

THE ACTRESS: Oh, baby, I've carried you too long... THE ACTOR: Hey! What's going on! Stop that pushing! THE ACTRESS: Come on now. Don't give me a hard time. Out! Nice and easy. No muss, no fuss. Lots of goodies here. Candy canes and cocoa...and you can...there, it's broken ...! You're all made. THE ACTOR: Where's my water? THE ACTRESS: And now you go out of me, baby mine. Yes...good... THE ACTOR: Cold! It's so cold! THE ACTRESS: Good...good... THE ACTOR: Please don't! What did I do? THE ACTRESS: Good...my baby...good. THE ACTOR: Don't push me away...!

(Break to the end of the exchange when the fetus has

been born) 0

THE ACTOR: That's it. The exercise is over! THE ACTRESS: Oh, no baby. It's never over for you. THE ACTOR: I said it's over! THE ACTRESS: Don't lose control now. Don't get hysterical. THE ACTOR: Stop it! Let me out! I'll kill you! THE ACTRESS: Kill me? That's it! Oh, if you only could. If you could do this one, real, irrevocable thing and prove that you live...that I live too. If you only could.

(Break to the end of the exchange where the actor

has a hatpin and is about to stab the actress)

THE ACTOR: Do you feel this? Do you? THE ACTRESS: How can I? It's all performance. THE ACTOR: You've got to believe me! I mean it! THE ACTRESS: There is no you! THE ACTOR: Yes! THE ACTRESS: No' There is no...

THE ACTOR: Yes!

When the actor has confronted the actress with his desire to end the exercise, the counterparts join into the area which the focus couple is occupying. This activity occurred when the actor began his initial plea to end the exercise. The director felt that is was necessary to indicate a sense of sameness with the actors and their counterparts.

Physically, the counterparts were matching the contact of the focus couple. In this manner, the spectator is able to observe, not only what is being said, but also the physical means by which it is being expressed

In the rehearsal process for The Exercise, the counterparts had to express themselves, for if they did not, in keeping with the conceptual approach, exactly one-half of the total performance would have been lost. Notes

^Artaud, p. 123-124.

^Ibid, p. 123-124.

Peter Brook, The Empty Space (New York: Atheneum, 1983), p. 114

Robert J. Willis ed.. The Director in a Changing Theatre (Palo Alto, Calif.: Mayfield Publishing Company, 1976), p. 178.

Q Lewis John Carlino, The Exercise (New York: Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 1968), p. 18.

^Ibid, p. 19.

Ibid, p. 61.

Ibid, p. 61.

11 CHAPTER III

MISE-EN-SCENE

Objective Unity

The job of the director is, among other things, dependent upon the management of the moment-to-moment reality of the play for the sake of production. The director faces the task of intervening in order to unify all pertinent elements into the lasting mold of per­ formance. Only through objective means can the director hope successfully to gear the production to a viable end.

In Breakout, James Schevill describes, from the standpoint of the actor/performer, the ultimate purpose of the process of objective unity:

Unity of performance is not unity of character. Often during a single performance, performers will play con­ tradictory actions; or actions that are not linked in a causal chain. Sometimes a performer will be at the center of an action, sometimes he will be a chorus; and the two functions may have no narrative or charac­ ter relation to each other.„ The only real thing a performer does is perform.

This level of truth, or "mise-en-scene," as Schevill calls it, is the very element that the director searches for in production.

Like the performer, the director must complete the necessary tasks associated with directing the play. The real key, however, is to as­ sure that the immediacy of action is present and, thus, that the validity of the communication taking place between the spectator and

12 13 actor is in balance. Each individual in the process performs his sin­ gle function in order to bring wholeness to the product. In the case of the Double, the spectator always has the opportunity to verify a given action that is observed. The "mise-en-scene," for purposes of this production, is the successful completion of the communication be­

tween the actor and spectator.

In The Exercise, an actor, working with an actress, is expected

to perform an exercise or series of exercises. At any given point,

the play demands improvisation. These segments include the need to

relate a painful, yet real experience that the performers had gone

through in life. These activities served as well, to test each other's

intuition at recognizing reality from fantasy. As each action was

carried out, the actor's communicative intentions were validated by

the physical representations of the Double. At the point that the

script called upon the actress to improvise childbirth, it was not

possible for the exercise to hold any level of communicative comple­

tion for the spectator without the dual and immediate action by the

counterparts. In the case of the childbirth scene, the actress's

counterpart physically displayed an open womb through which the ac­

tor's counterpart was "born" as a hideous being that was, in turn,

stylistically "raping" the womb. The overall verbal exchange that was

present was not enough to express totally this action.

In the directorial approach, total objective unity in perfor­

mance was the ultimate goal. Fortunately, not only did this unity

come about as a direct result of the case of the Double, it was de­

rived as a major force throughout the production process. The \ ^

14

director, working with the actors, gave meaning to the expression be­

hind the preparation. Therefore, as the actors were involved with

systematic rehearsing, this objective unity came about. Notes 12 James Schevill, Breakout (Chicago: The Swallo Press, 1973), p. 382-383.

15 CHAPTER IV

CONCLUSION

The concept of the Double was realized not by accident, but rather through a system of analysis that demanded justification. The director of The Exercise adopted the ideal of the Double and found it to be extremely rewarding. It may be argued that the approach would suffice as a means in other productions of this or any other play. In a theatre where innovation is possible, however, the director has a responsibility to explore different avenues of approach. To rely upon one means of directing technique is to stifle creativity. It is in the director's best interest to experiment with varying methods that are at his disposal and to select those that will meet the needs of his style and that of the production.

A director should be keenly aware that it is possible that ac­ tors have a viewpoint much like his own, as was the case of this production. An actor can observe the process while offering his own creations to aid in the completion of the project.

The director of The Exercise brought about an objective unity to his work that emerged because of the foundation of the approach. The success of the production depended upon the inner-workings of the di­ rector and his actors to achieve a specific level of performance. The production hinged upon a new-found method of actor preparation. Not

16 17 only is it possible to work organically to arrive at meaning of action

in this case, communicative meaning—it is also possible to test the validity of such work. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Artaud, Antonin. The Theatre and Its Double. Translated by Mary Caroline Richards. New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1958.

Brook, Peter. The Empty Space. New York: Atheneum, 1983.

Chinoy, Helen Krich and Cole, Toby, eds. Directors on Directing. Indianapolis and New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1963.

Schevill, James. Breakout. Chicago: The Swallow Press, Inc., 1973.

Sellin, Eric. The Dramatic Concepts of Antonin Artaud. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1968.

Shank, Theodore. American Alternative Theatre. New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1982.

Willis, Robert J., ed. The Director in a Changing Theatre. Palo Alto, Calif.: Mayfield Publishing Company, 1976.

18 APPENDIX A

SCRIPT OF THE EXERCISE

19 THE EXERCISE

BY LEWIS JOHN CAMJNO

DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE INC

20

ACT ONE:

INCUBUS

21 THE EXERCISE

ACT ONE

SCENE: Jbe bare stage of a theater. It is exposed to the back wall. Both sides are lined with legs of black veiour. A jumble of fly rigging hangs overhead. A long ladder is against the back wall. 7here are two chairs u. L. A work light is directly D. C. 7be rest of the stage is bare ex­ cept for an occasional flat and door unit. AT RISE: 7be CMrJdirt is open. 7here are areas of the stage hidden in darkness. Only white light here, a feel­ ing of chiaroscuro. 7be house lights come down. A long moment passes. 7/je silence is prolonged to a point where the audience begins to get uncomfortable. 7hey must feel something is wrong. 7be impression must be that something has happened to delay the beginning of the play. When Ibe stage manager is certain that this is the general impression out front, he will give tbe signal for the Actor to enter. !He enters hurriedly, out of breath. !He looks around.

THE ACTOR. Hello? Hey, I'm sorry I'm late. All the cabs go off shift at the same time. Ridiculous! (5(iII looking around.) Hey! (!He calls out into the house.) Hellooooo! I know you're here. Look, I couldn't help it. Honest! (!He turns back U.) The dentist took a half hour longer. Damn sadist. (He holds his jaw.) Come on now. I broke a shoelace this morning, I ran out of kitty litter, deodorant, and dental floss all at the same time. I think I'm get­ ting an ulcer, and there is a fungus on the nail of my big toe. I need you! (A moment passes, then there is a slight noise from one of the darkened corners of tbe stage, and a woman, the Ac­ tress, emerges gradually into ibe light. She has been sitting in the darkness all the while. She carries a large purse and wears a hat. She walks to him. "He sings.) Here she comes,- Miss America . . . radiant. . . .

22 THE ACTRESS. Why didn't you tell me you had a dentist ap­ pointment? THE ACTOR. I didn't. I was lying. THE ACTRESS. Oh . . . THE ACTOR. The fungus is true, though. THE ACTRESS. Well, that's something. It's really good of you to work alone with me like this. (She takes off her hat and drops it and her purse on one of the chairs.) THE ACTOR. You look wonderful i THE ACTRESS. Oh, stop . . . THE ACTOR. No, you really do. THE ACTRESS. Probably the Seconal. Relaxes the face muscles. It does that. THE ACTOR. Seconal? THE ACTRESS. (T^odding.) After yesterday's rehearsal, I felt like taking cyanide, hemlock . . . can you still get hemlock? THE ACTOR. I don't know. THE ACTRESS. (Shaking her head.) You know, I'm beginning to have serious doubts about our friend, herr director. And this writer, I could strangle him! The way he just sits in the third row and smiles. He's a glower. All warm and tingly, listening to his words ... I'd love to walk up to him and say, "Listen, Irving, you glow just once more and I'm gonna puii:h you right in the mouth!" THE ACTOR. Why don't you? THE ACTRESS. Wise guy. (The Actor tosses a bag up several times to attract her attention to it. She looks at him for a moment, then, sarcastically:) Oh, what have you got in the bag? THE ACTOR. Guess. THE ACTRESS. I'm not gonna guess. What is it? THE ACTOR. Guess! THE ACTRESS. Forget it. (She turns away from him. 7be Actor takes a trick rubber cast, the kind that's worn over the shoe, from the bag. and puts it on. Tie limps to her.) THE ACTOR. Hey . . . THE ACTRESS. (She turns and sees—the cast. She laughs.) Oh, for . . . THE ACTOR. (Laughing.) Remember? THE ACTRESS. Of course! You gave me that the first play we did together.

23 THE ACTRESS. There's a safety reset button just under the master switch. Have you tried that? THE ACTOR. (7rom offstage.) What? THE ACTRESS. Just under the master switch, a red button marked . . . (7be -4ctor enters.) THE ACTOR. (QMielly.) I can't stand hecklers, sidewalk engi- neers, and back seat drivers. I advise you to be quiet. If I'm going to be electrocuted, it may as well be for murder. Capish? THE ACTRESS. (T^ow suppressing a grin.) I capish. THE ACTOR. Fine. Great! (He turns and marches off. Again we see his shadow as he places the work light on the floor and stud­ ies the light board. A long moment of silence passes. Tie reaches forward tentatively several times, for some switches, then has second thoughts. Obviously tbe possibility of a second shock makes him less intrepid than he would like to be right now. Tie studies tbe board, scratching bis bead. 7inally, from offstage.) Where did you say that . . . ? THE ACTRESS. Under the master, on the right. (Sbe u^alcbes tbe Actor's shadow as he reaches his finger hesitatingly toward tbe button. Suddenly, in a fit of courage, he pokes it. A row of overhead lights comes on.) Bravo! That's it! THE ACTOR, (from offstage. Suddenly a burst of maniacal laughter from him.) Ah ha . . . I've got you now! (Tie lifts his arms a la mad scientist and continues with his fiendish laughter as he throws su'itcb after switch. Various areas of tbe stage are bathed in pools of colored light. 7be moment is (iuite magical. 7be Actress runs from color to color.) THE ACTRESS. Wonderful! That's great! More! More! THE ACTOR. (!HJS !Mad-Scientist voice as he continues to throw switches.) It's mine! My creation! THE ACTRESS. (Running from one circle of light to another, laughing and yelling.) More! More! THE ACTOR. They said I was mad? I'll show them. Ha, ha, ha. Mad, am I? Ha, ha, ha! (7be victress continues for a moment, then suddenly winces in pain. Tier hand goes to tbe back of her neck.) THE ACTRESS, (yelling.) Aghhh! (7be Actor comes running onstage.) THE ACTOR. What is it? What's the matter? (7be Actress stands, frozen, unable to turn her head.)

25 THE ACTRESS. My whiplash thing again! I can't . . . THE ACTOR. (Quickly mooing to her. alt serious.) O.K., O.K., don't mouef You remember how we do it? THE ACTRESS. (Painfully.) Yes ... I think so . . . THE ACTOR. Cross your arms . . . (All efficiency now, taking over. Tie moves behind her. She is facing D.) One— THE ACTRESS. Don't hurt me. (Sbe slowly rises to tbe tips of her toes.) THE ACTOR. Two ... (We puts his arms around her. Watch­ ing, we know they have done this many times before.) 7hreel (Tie jerks her off tbe floor.) THE ACTRESS. (An ear-shattering scream, as if her spine has been broken.) Aghhhhh! (A moment. "He stands back from her. She moves her head tentatively, then finding there is no pain, sbe turns to him, her face bathed in a radiant smile.) Oh ... oh . . . that's wonderful! Wonderful! You should have been a doc­ tor. Really. THE ACTOR. O.K.? THE ACTRESS. Yes. It works every time. Oh, did I need you the last season. (Massaging her neck.) THE ACTOR. Ah . . . where do you want to start? THE ACTRESS. I don't know. Top of the second act. THE ACTOR. The revisions. THE ACTRESS. The revisions, the revisions . . . THE ACTOR. (Moving the bench.) Couch here . . . THE ACTRESS. O.K., I'm just home from having the baby . . . THE ACTOR. Not "I." She I She's just back from the hospitol. THE ACTRESS. I, I, 7/ I'm just back and I'm on the phone with Helen. (Reading the margin of tbe script.) What's this? "Jose­ phine; Susquehanna 7-4382 . . ,** THE ACTOR. Sorry . . . THE ACTRESS. (7brou;in0 tbe script on Ibe floor.) This isn't my script. (A silence. 7be Actor picks it up and gives her tbe script he has been holding.) Thank you. What page were we on? THE ACTOR. Twenty-three A. THE ACTRESS. What? THE ACTOR. Twenty-three A. THE ACTRESS. Right. (Reading Ibe script.) Dear, sweet, un­ derstanding Helen. Who is Helen, anyway? THE ACTOR. She's your sister!

26 THE ACTRESS. (Putting him on.) Of course! How dumb! Now I've got it. I'm talking to her and my emotions are mixed. I'm a . . . happy about the new baby and everything . . . THE ACTOR. My fink agent . . . THE ACTRESS. ... but I'm also scared . . . THE ACTOR. (7o himself.) You'd think just once, he'd get my name above the title. THE ACTRESS. That's all you think about, isn't it? Look, up on the marquee! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's superstar! The play, the work means nothing to you. All you think about is . . . THE ACTOR. Bread! Breadbreadbread! Is what I think about Miss Sarah Heartburn; And so do you. 7be play I 7be work I Tdy arXl A pox on that! Pish, tosh. (He roars, doing an imitation of the MQM Lion.) You know that lion you see before all the MCM movies? You ever read what's written around him? "Ars Gratia Ars." Now you would interpret that to mean art for art's sake. But to me it comes out their getting my ass for nothing. Ars, gratis, ars. Comprende? THE ACTRESS. Oh, please! Please! How did we get into this? What are we talking about? I need help. Tlelpl I can't believe we're opening in two weeks. THE ACTOR. Believe it. THE ACTRESS. What's wrong? From the first line of the second act, I feel like somebody's got hold of my brain and is squeez­ ing. And then I look at you, and there you are; cool and com­ petent, as if you had a pocket full of hit reviews. What is it? Is it just me? Just me? THE ACTOR. Come on. (7be >Ictress stands in ibe middle of Ibe stfl^e and begins a series of limbering up exercises.) Do you still have to go through all that? THE ACTRESS. Does it bother you? THE ACTOR. You have the irritating habit of always answering a question with a question. THE ACTRESS. I'm just trying to relax. THE ACTOR. Why? THE ACTRESS. To perform more naturally. THE ACTOR. Less studied? THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. THE ACTOR. More "real" as they say? THE ACTRESS. Yes.

27 THE ACTOR. I have one word for you. THE ACTRESS. Yes? THE ACTOR. Bullshit. THE ACTRESS. (Slops ber exercise.) Huh, I always thought that was two words. THE ACTOR. (Shaking his head.) Glib. Glib from the crib. (Sbe resumes her exercise. Tie walks to her and studies her for a moment.) The character you're playing in this particular scene is not supposed to be relaxed! You're really something. You have to exercise, practice, to be real. I can see you getting up in the morning. "Who shall I be today? How about me? O.K. Why not? Now breathe . . . head down, up down . . . side." (He imitates her doing her exercises.) "Now I'm finally me." Down­ stairs. Into the grocery store. Now, the test I "My God, I'm ac­ tually going to do it!" The diaphragm flexes, the cords vibrate. Then deeply, from the stomach . . . (7n ber uoice.) "Banana yogurt, please." "I've done it!" "I've proclaimed my identity." (7n bis own voice.) The top of your head is coming off! You could lie down on the floor, right there, assume the position, and absorb the misery and chaos of all humanity in one, benevolent, interminable orgasm, you feel so good. But . . . but the clerk is giving you fish eyes as he reaches in the refrigerator. You start to crack! You're not sure you've convinced him the real you said "Banana yogurt, please." The clerk stares at you, a thin smile of disbelief on his lips. You shrivel with self-disgust. No applause. No acceptance. All that relaxing and the whole thing is a bust. Why? You have no point of reference. Never did have. You dc all that because you haven't the slightest idea who you are, up here, outside, anywhere I So you just wallow around in that muck of affeaive memory, sensory memory . . . relaxation . . . that whole limbo of fantasy you call inner reality you make up to sat­ isfy the cravings of your own ego! THE ACTRESS. (After a moment's silence.) Oh, is that what's wrong with the second act? THE ACTOR. That's what's wrong with you! And you're what's wrong with the second act, the first act, and the third ... the fourth, the fifth . . . THE ACTRESS. Oh yeah, "Marvin"? Well I wouldn't exactly call your contribution to this little circus inspired. . . . (A mo­ ment.) Except that thing about the grocery store was good.

28 THE ACTOR. (Proudly, smugly.) You like that, ha? THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. The way you invent, thought to thought. Tliat's a gift, really. No kidding. And the characteriza­ tion . . . The way you did me . . . it's too bad though, the way you always go into that unnatural rhetoric. "Limbo of fantasy." See, you just don't breathe right, and . . . THE ACTOR. How many shows have we done together? THE ACTRESS. Aside from Boston? (He nods.) Well, there was the road tour, the stock thing in Mass., the off-Broadway revival, Strindberg in Mineola. Huh! That could almost be a tide of a play. Oh no, that wasn't with you. Tom did look like you though, except he had bigger ear lobes and . . . THE ACTOR. (A bioodcunJhri^ scream.) Yeowwwww! (A long silence. He seems very calm.) THE ACTRESS. (Continuing in her normal lone of voice as if she hadn't been interrupted.) He had a little scar on his eyebrow. THE ACTOR. I would like to know, not for any particular rea­ son, of course—but I would like to know, why I continue to work with you. Can you explain that? THE ACTRESS. 1 inspire you? (He shakes his head.) You love me? (He shakes his head. A silence.) You used to love me. (A moment.) THE ACTOR. (Looking at his watch.) Look, we've got a long rehearsal ahead of us, after this, so let's not waste time with our memoirs. (Quietly, calmly.) 1 would like to help you. That's why I agreed to come, today. No other reason. If you don't mind I would like to work now, please. THE ACTRESS. O.K., O.K. . . . THE ACTOR. From the second act, then? THE ACTRESS. From the second act. (7be Actress moves to the two chairs, sits, thinks a moment, then picks up an imaginary phone and begins laughing.) Oh, Helen, it was terrible. I know I said it was wonderful. I mean the labor. (She has to keep extri­ cating herself from him.) Four hours. (7be -4clor kisses her. She pushes him off the chair.) The food stunk. Stunk. I had to eat candy bars. They shave you, you know. Humiliating. When I was in the labor room, I kept thinking about the kind of world he'd live in, how he'd fit, what he'd do . . . (Suddenly breaking out of character.) I can't say that! THE ACTOR. Oh, my aching . . .

29 THE ACTRESS. She's not that kind of a ivoman! She doesn't think in those terms. The line is out of character. She's superficial and shallow I There she is in labor, being split apart with pain and all of a sudden she starts mouthing philosophies. No! I just can't buy it! THE ACTOR. You don't have to. Just make . . . THE ACTRESS. She just wouldn't think of things like that at that moment. THE ACTOR. How do you know? Have you ever had a baby? THE ACTRESS. No. Have you? THE ACTOR. Not lately. THE ACTRESS. Has the playwright? I tell you that's not what would be going . . . THE ACTOR. That's his choice. That's what he selects for her to think. THE ACTRESS. Charlie, I have to play it. What he is asking me to do is phony! THE ACTOR. Just do what you're paid for! THE ACTRESS. You don't even know what I'm talking about . . . THE ACTOR. O.K., let's stop! Let's just forget it! THE ACTRESS. (Looking through script.) When I was in the labor room, I kept thinking about the kind of world he'd live in . . . Can you believe that? THE ACTOR. Oh sure, sure, what the hell, he's just the play­ wright. What does he know, right? What do we need him for? I mean why don't we just improvise the whole thing, even the birtb? THE ACTRESS. O.K. Why don't we? THE ACTOR. Well, think about it now. It's a litUe out of char­ acter for you. You'd pretty much have to wing it, wouldn't you? A woman drops an egg every month. Twelve months a year for . . . how old are you? All right, well let's say thirty-five. O.K., then from about the age of thirteen . . . that makes . . . twenty-two times twelve . . . (He writes in Ibe air.) . . . that's forty-four and twenty-two . . . that makes two hundred and sixty-four eggs, give or take ten. O.K., two hundred and sixty-four eggs that haven't been touched, that nothing's happened to. Now here we are and you're suddenly faced with the problem of recreating

30 birth. What I'm getting at is, don't you think the vacuum . . . the two hundred and sixty-four absences of birth—don't you think with all that against you it would be phony to try to find the experience? THE ACTRESS. All right. Skip it! (Sbe stands and starts walking toward tbe i^in^s. 7be >lclor moires in front of her. blocking her.) THE ACTOR. Wait a minute . . . THE ACTRESS. Get out of my way! (Slabbiiuj at biiii with her umbrella.) THE ACTOR. What are you mad about? THE ACTRESS. Tliis whole thing is funny to you. Just a big joke . . . THE ACTOR. It's not funny at all . . . THE ACTRESS. Let's just forget it! THE ACTOR. No, damn it! We won't forget it! We've got a shot at something here. Once, just once, let's not botch it up with our personal problems. Now the essential element is fictional. You should be able to recognize that and once you do, once you've got it in your fat litde fist, hang onto it so you don't spend the rest of your life like you were on some kind of continual trip! I apologize. Now please . . . please ... I really want to help. I want us to be very good in this and I want the audience to love us . . . you especially . . . and I want us to make a lot of money so that someday, someday I can get my name above the title! Now quietly, with sincere tenderness, admiration, and re­ spect, I invite you to work. I'll even improvise the birth with you. (A pause. She smiles at him.) Your sword. (Sbe lau^^bs as he takes her umbrella.) We do the birth. How fa.? THE ACTRESS. Far as you want. THE ACTOR. You mean it? THE ACTRESS. As much as I can mean anything. Let's start. (Sbe sils.) THE ACTOR. You ready? THE ACTRESS. Not yet. (A pause.) All right. THE ACTOR. Right. Open your legs. THE ACTRESS. What? THE ACTOR. Open your legs I THE ACTRESS. (Starling to get up.) Oh, for . . . THE ACTOR. (Pushing her hack down.) Look, I'm gonna help.

31 I'm gonna be the foetus. Now do you really want to do this, or dog it? I promise my back will be to you at all times. THE ACTRESS. Don't be silly. THE ACTOR. I also promise to remain in character. Now if you're afraid of a foetus . . . THE ACTRESS. Please! Let's just do it! THE ACTOR. Right. O.K. (He crouches in front of her, facing ibe audience. Her legs straddle his back.) THE ACTRESS. (Sbe closes her eyes, then presses her hands on her slomacb.) I hold something. And I know it's growing fast . . . THE ACTOR. (He has assumed foetal position.) Now, is every­ thing straight in here? (7eelin^ u>ilb bis closed fists. He runs bis fist down along an imaginary umbih'cal cord.) Cord's in good shape, placenta, roots all in place. Plenty of water . . . (He paniomimes feeling all these things, Iben holds up his fists and rubs them together.) THE ACTRESS. The thought that I'm tied to diis . . . this para­ site and can't get away, sometimes . . . THE ACTOR. (7eelin^ around, his eyes closed.) Beautiful. No weight, friction, hunger. No light . . . THE ACTRESS. . . . makes me want to scream. THE ACTOR. It's so warm and safe. (Tie chuckles.) THE ACTRESS. I fed no maternity. Whatever that is, I do not feel it. THE ACTOR. (Continuing to feel around.) Wonderful. Really wonderful . . . THE ACTRESS. (7akin^ a deep breath.) It seems . . . seems as if it pulsates. THE ACTOR. I am a male. (He holds out his clenched fists and gradually Ibe fingers extend. His eyes are still closed. He feels his fingers.) THE ACTRESS. I know the roots are growing deeper. I wonder what its face looks like there in the dark. THE ACTOR. (He wiggles his tbumbs.) Hey, opposable thimibs! How about that? (Tie smiles, touches his face, then about the moulb, u^itb bis new fingers. He ripples tbe water, then clasps his hands tightly.) These ... I can hold with them. What? (Tie gropes in the water for something to grab.) Water? (Tie touches bis face and arms.) Myself? What else?

32 THE ACTRESS. It grows! It wakes and sleeps ... (Tbe Actor moves his body from side to side, his arm out in short, jerky mo­ tions.) THE ACTOR. Oh, things are happening very fast now. (He jerks his elbow.) THE ACTRESS. Stop it! Do you have to do that? THE ACTOR. . . . T'ery fast! Every minute something grows here, something pops there . . . (He jerks his elbow.) THE ACTRESS. Stop it! (Reacting, grimacing with pain.) Damn you! No, no, shouldn't say things like that. They say they know. O.K., happy thoughts. O.K. . . . THE ACTOR. (Opening and closing his fists.) Oh, is my grip getting stronger. When I grab myself, I can really feel myself ^rabt THE ACTRESS. . . . Happy thoughts, yes. Dolls widi golden hair. A snowman with button eyes . . . rain on the window . . . (Her face ti^btens.) THE ACTOR. (Tlis body contorting.) Hey . . . ! THE ACTRESS. Oh thank God. Oh, baby, I've carried you too long . . . THE ACTOR. Hey! What's going on! Stop that pushing! THE ACTRESS. Come on now. Don't give me a hard time. Out! Nice and easy. No muss no fuss. Lots of goodies here. Candy canes and cocoa . . . and you can . . . there, it's broken ... 1 You're all made! THE ACTOR. (He shouts. Tlis eyes still closed, he gropes, feeling the level of the water fall. He shouts.) Where's my water? THE ACTRESS. (Qroaning.) And now you go out of me, baby mine. Yes . . . good . . . THE ACTOR. Cold! It's so cold! THE ACTRESS. (7n Ibe rbytbm of her contractions.) . . . good . . . good . . . THE ACTOR. (Ti'rilbin^.) Please don't! (He begins to cry.) What did 1 do? (He moves further out from between her legs.) THE ACTRESS. (Tier bead thrown back, her eyes closed, smil­ ing, her hands on his shoulders, pushing him forward, away from her.) Good . . . my baby . . . good . . . THE ACTOR. (Tds eyes still closed, bis arms folded and pressed tightly against his stomach.) Don't push me away . . . !

33 THE ACTRESS. Good. THE ACTOR. I'm cold ... so cold . . . ! THE ACTRESS. A litrie . . . yes, a little more and . . . THE ACTOR. (Screaming.) 74ol THE ACTRESS. (Pushing him away from her in one, final ef­ fort. He falls on the floor, wiggling.) yesi (She falls back in ber chair, exhausted, exultant.) THE ACTOR. (Qroping about on Ibe floor, in front of her. his eyes still closed. He feels his umbilical cord, running his hand down its length until, to his horror, he discovers it cut.) My cord! Nothing's holding me. (Tie touches bis chest. He opens his moutb, bis cbest beaues with bis ^rst breath. He screams.) Cold I Coldt (He cries, a baby cry, intermingled with his words. He gropes blindly at Ibe air, the floor, himself, his fingers opening and closing. Tbe Actress watches him. Qradually his eyes open. His face registers an expression of wonderment.) THE ACTRESS. (Sbe looks at him for a long moment, then leans over, studying him.) So here you are, my litde monkey face. (Tie cries.) Oh, what strong lungs. How red and wrinkled you are. No, no. Mama's here. "Mary had a litde lamb, litde lamb, Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow." (His hands grope tbe air above him. His feet kick spasmodically. She leans over and wiggles a finger near his face.) Hey, hey! Look'a here. (Tie smiles, he lau^bs.) Oh, yes. What a smile. (Sbe tickles bim on the chest. He lau^bs.) Oh, he's so tick­ lish . . . (Tlis hands continue to grope tbe air.) THE ACTOR. I feel wiggly all over. (Tlis hand fmds her finger. He grips it hard.) THE ACTRESS. Hey, litde Tarzan, you've really got a grip there ... THE ACTOR. These ... are for holding . . . (His hand moves up and grabs her wrist.) THE ACTRESS. Oh, not so tight now. (Sbe tries to free bis grip. He grabs her other wrist.) Now come on. Let go . . . THE ACTOR. Good ... (Tie begins pulling himself up onto her lap.) Want . . . want ... the warm . . . THE ACTRESS. Baby, you're hurting me. (Sbe is frightened now, as the Actor makes his way onto ber lap holding her wrists, 7rying to free ber bands.) Stop it!

34 THE ACTOR. (7n ber lap now. 7fis face near hers, his mouth making sucking noises.) Want . . . (Sbe trifs to free herself from him. Tier revulsion and fear mount loiyard hysteria. Sbe be­ gins to scream as she loses control.) THE ACTRESS. I said that's enough! Stop it! Stop it! No! (She breaks free and puts her face in her hands, sobbing deeply and uncontrollably.) THE ACTOR. Hey ... hey .. . all right! (Sbe tries to speak, but for tbe moment, tbe words can't get through the sobs . . . be lakes ber by tbe shoulders.) It's over. THE ACTRESS. (7hrougb her crying.) I can't seem to get . . . get . . . THE ACTOR. Yes, you can. Breathe in . . . more . . . deep. . . . (He presses his hands on her stomach, forcing her to breathe.) Again ... no, don't talk . . . breathe . . . breathe . . . (A moment. She gains some control.) Better? (Sbe nods.) THE ACTRESS. I just . . . just wanted to get away . . . THE ACTOR. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ... it was just part of the exercise and . . . THE ACTRESS. 1 know . . . know that. I don't understand what happened. (A long silence follows. The Actor gets up and sits in one of the chairs, looking at her as she regains her composure. Sbe turns and looks up at him.) It was stupid of me . . . THE ACTOR. What the hell. Forget it. (>lnotber silence.) THE ACTRESS. I'm a litde claustrophobic, see, and you started grabbing and . . . (Sbe shakes ber head.) THE ACTOR. Look . . . a . . . this isn't going to work. I'll see you at rehearsal. O.K.? THE ACTRESS. Oh come on now. Just because I . . . THE ACTOR. I'm telling you it's not going to work! THE ACTRESS. Now who's getting mad? THE ACTOR. (Shaking his head.) I'm just tired. Really tired. I've had it, honey. Honest. I know you try, but it's getting to the point where you've got no control at ail, any more. No wonder you can't get the scene. We are doing a simple, a simple explora­ tion of experience and you . . . THE ACTRESS. Tliere is no simple exploration of experience. Your personal feelings always . . . THE ACTOR. Oh boy! Oh boy I There we are again. Do you hear anything I say? Ever? We're trying to create an illusion of

35 birth, here. You're supposed to be an actress. You're supposed to be able to handle things like that! THE ACTRESS. Why are you making such a big thing of it? A person got scared, that's all. THE ACTOR. But that's just it/ You're not supposed to I Oh, when you go, you really go, don't you? (Tie points to his fore­ head.) Jelly. It just rips through your subconscious and . . . THE ACTRESS. Please, I have an analyst for this kind of thing. I think he's a litde better qualified. THE ACTOR. Oh great! Qreatt Here she comes with the cute dodges now. (Picks up coat and hat.) THE ACTRESS. I'm not dodging. THE ACTOR. No? Wanna know why you panicked just then? THE ACTRESS. You diink you ... ? THE ACTOR. You actually belieued I was that baby! THE ACTRESS. Oh come on? THE ACTOR. (Crosses above bench.) That's right! There was no more exercise for you. You lost it, honey. Lost where you were, what you were doing . . . you get so hung up in your own private litde world, you don't hear, you don't see, you don't re­ late to anything I And that's the truth. You've been doing that ever since I've known you. Only now it's worse, (A moment.) Lost it, my darling . . . like you lost us a long time ago. Qaus- trophobic, my ass . . . (Crosses to her purse.) THE ACTRESS. Please! THE ACTOR. . . . PHYXIA! (He fishes in her purse, takes a cigarette and lights it.) THE ACTRESS. Why don't you buy your own cigarettes? THE ACTOR. I don't smoke. THE ACTRESS. (After a moment.) You're absolutely sure my reactions—I mean at the end there, were real? Not part of the exercise? THE ACTOR. What'a you mean? THE ACTRESS. Well, you've been shooting off your mouth about what's real and what's not. You sure what happened at the end there wasn't part of the improvisation? THE ACTOR. You said it was over. THE ACTRESS. I also said we'd go as far as we wanted. THE ACTOR. Oh no! Don't give me that. You trying to tell me ... ?

36 THE ACTRESS. I'm not trying to tell you anything. I just asked a question. Don't get up-tight, Renfrew. THE ACTOR. You're the one who's up-tight. You better take hold, dearie, and you better do it fast. I mean it. (Tie walks around Ibe stage, examining it. What she has just said weighs beauily. She gets up and sits in a chair. A long silence passes. Tbe Actor walks upstage now. He stops, turns and looks back at tbe >4ctress.) Well, was it? THE ACTRESS. (Smiling, without turning.) Was it what? THE ACTOR. You know damn well what! THE ACTRESS. Is it that important to you? THE ACTOR. (Crossing down to her.) Was it part cf the ex­ ercise or not? THE ACTRESS. Would it make you feel more secure if it wasn't? THE ACTOR. Don't keep answering my questions with ques­ tions ! THE ACTRESS. (Quietly.) It wasn't part. THE ACTOR. I thought so. THE ACTRESS. But you weren't sure. THE ACTOR. Of course I was! THE ACTRESS. Uh, uh, for a moment, there, you didn't know, did you? Better take hold, dearie. (7be Actor shakes his head at her, laughing silently. Tie turns.) And there's another thing. O.K., I flip out sometimes, but there's something . . . something that gets to you . . . touches you . . . disturbs you about it . . . something you can't quite cope with. THE ACTOR. (His Viennese psychiatrist's accent.) Veil, listen, darlink, ven you're dealing vit the mentally disturbed . . . (7be Actress laughs.) THE ACTRESS. 1 love you. You know that? I really love you. THE ACTOR. And I love you. 1 love you to my tippy toes, fungal though one may be . . . (7be Actress laughs.) I love you with the freedersanz of every day's most quiet greed. I love you with the forp. I love you with knubus. I love you with the rosenplotz. I love you with the death, flight and fears of all my life. And if God but snooze, I shall but love thee better after intermis­ sion.

37 (Suddenly.) Hey, can you see it? Eight cinerama cameras poiseu, a cast of three thousand one hundred and forty eight . . . and a half, a two million dollar set, you and I: Renata Anchovy and Mario Panza, the Count and Countess of Fettucini, on the brink of double suicide, standing on the batdements of our casde. I take you in my arms. (Tie lakes ber in his arms. She is giggling.) Shh. Please. The director calls. "Lights, camera, action!" The orches­ tra begins . . . eighty-six kettle drums. (Tie does tbe sound.) I take you in my arms. (Now in his opera singer's voice he sings to Ibe melody of "Be !My Love," drawing out Ibe "I" sound as long as he can.) Be my llllllllunch! (7bey both break up and Idu^b.) Great! Great! The teeny boppers'U love it, ha? THE ACTRESS. You're crazy . . . crazy! THE ACTOR. See? It's catching. (Sbe is still in his arms. A tenu­ ous moment. 7/je touching is painfully sweet. Tinally be lets ber go. A silence.) THE ACTRESS. Hey, let's do more improvisations. I have an idea. THE ACTOR. (Looking at his watcb.) We've got a rehearsal in less than two hours. I would like to get to the play. THE ACTRESS. The hell with the play! There isn't going to be any play if we don't get this straight between us. You're right, our personal hang-ups get in the way. THE ACTOR. Our hang-ups? THE ACTRESS. O.K., mine. I admit I jammed on the birth thing. It's wrong of me to give her all my complications. Let's go on. Let's see what happens. 1HE ACTOR. You serious? THE ACTRESS. Cross my heart. THE ACTOR. Anything? No holds barred. Go as far as we want? THE ACTRESS. Or dare. O.K.? THE ACTOR. O.K. THE ACTRESS. Oh, look, while we're at it, why don't we try t;o tell whether what we do is invented or comes from a real experi­ ence? That should be an interesting test. THE ACTOR. How could either of us know the other wasn't lying? THE ACTRESS. We'll agree not to. THE ACTOR. 1 can ask you any time, real or not? THE ACTRESS. And I can do the same to you.

38 THE ACTOR. All right. Fine. But whatever happens, just remem­ ber it was your idea. THE ACTRESS. Why do you say that like a threat? THE ACTOR. I just want you to be aware of what this could turn into. THE ACTRESS. I'm aware. THE ACTOR. (£ooks at her for a long moment, studying her.) You . . . a . . . you're really turned on, today, ha? You been saving all this up? THE ACTRESS. No paranoia now. One cuckoo in the cast is enough. THE ACTOR. (Shakes bis head, smiling.) O.K., where do we start? THE ACTRESS. Well, we've done birth. How about children? THE ACTOR. Kids. Good, good. THE ACTRESS. Children, then. (She begins her limbering-up exercises. He watches ber wryly.) THE ACTOR. Again? THE ACTRESS. (Continuing.) Sorry if this disturbs you, but I have my way of doing things. (Sbe continues for a moment more, then stops and looks at him, smiling.) There. THE ACTOR. Thanks a lot. THE ACTRESS. You're welcome. THE ACTOR. You're sure now? THE ACTRESS. I'm sure. THE ACTOR. Right. (7bey both turn away from each other, back to back, then each goes to his own tbou(jbls. 7be ^clor puts his hands over his face. 7be Actress closes her eyes and turns her bead up. toward tbe ceiling. Both of them move their lips as if going over some dialogue to themselves. Qradually. as tbe mo­ ment passes, things begin to happen to their bodies. A head might cock on a shoulder, very much as a child would do when reaching for some idea. A tongue might roll over the lips, an ear be scratched, a nose picked. As we continue to watch them, a physi­ cal transformation takes place. 7be Actor takes his hands from his face and begins to bite his fingernails, nervously. He tries to touch his nose with his tongue. He clasps his hands. 7be Actress cradles an imaginary doll. 7be Actor suddenly makes up his mind and pantomimes jumping rope. 7be Actress walks to him, watches bim a moment, then primes herself, and when tbe rope is on tbe

39 backswing. jumps in with bim. 7bey are now jumping tbe same rope, face to face. A couple of jumps, then the Actress begins to chant.) THE ACTRESS. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Mama with a baby carriage. First comes love. . . . (Tbe ^ctor drops tbe rope, suddenly walks away from ber and panto­ mimes throwing a ball against a wall and catching it. Tbe Actress watches bim a moment, then walks to him. still cradling ber doll.) My doll opens and closes its eyes. THE ACTOR. (7browing Ibe ball.) I had a frog. I put it in my toy chest and forgot about it and it died. (Tie misses the catcb. Tbe ball goes by him. near ber, and sbe kicks it back to bim.) THE ACTRESS. What died in him? THE ACTOR. His blood. THE ACTRESS. Did his bones die? THE ACTOR. Everything. THE ACTRESS. Did that make you sad? THE ACTOR. He was a friend. He hopped all over, like this. (Tie demonstrates.) And his head went like this. (Tie moi;es bis bead, frog-like.) And his eyes like this. (Tie blinks bis eyes.) I loved him. But everything in him died. I gave him to the cat and the cat ate him. (Tbey both giggle.) THE ACTRESS. I don't have a cat. Pretend I'm the momma and you're the daddy and we're sleeping, O.K.? (Sbe lies on tbe floor.) THE ACTOR. (Lying down beside her.) O.K. THE ACTRESS. And it's night-time and I'm supposed to be in my room, asleep, and I don't hear us. THE ACTOR. O.K. THE ACTRESS. O.K. Now we have to do like this. (Sbe begins breathing rapidly, imitating the approach to orgasm. Tinally she breathes the long breath of climax.) Now you do it. (7be Actor imitates her, but dees not do tbe final breath.) No. At the end you have to do like this. (She does the long, deep breath again.) THE ACTOR. (Qetting up.) I don't want to play this. THE ACTRESS. My daddy has to stand up to do wee wee. THE ACTOR. That's disgusting I Only little children say, "wee wee." You have to say urinate. THE ACTRESS. "Urinate." Like that? THE ACTOR. Uh huh.

40 THE ACTRESS. My daddy has to stand up to urinate wee wee. THE ACTOR. (Pantomiming locking many locks around her.) Lock, lock, lock, locklock. I just locked you in jail and you can't get out. THE ACTRESS. Why did you lock me in jaU? THE ACTOR. Because you're disgusting and all disgusting peo­ ple go to jail. THE ACTRESS. Why am I disgusting? THE ACTOR. You're in a big, big castle and there's big monsters in there and they're gonna eat you. THE ACTRESS. (Screaming suddenly.) Save me! Help! Oh, Mighty Mouse, come and save me! THE ACTOR. (Tie "ta-tas" Ibe appropriate fanfare, then does all tbe sound effects with his moulb as he tears down the bars and attacks tbe monsters.) Take that, you ugly monster! (Tie swings, and by the sound effect he makes with his moulb, we know he connects solidly. He attacks another monster.) And you take that, and that, and that! (All the monsters are finally subdued. He fin­ ishes with another flourishing fanfare of "ta-ta's.") THE ACTRESS. (Ecslalic. clapping her hands.) You did it! You did it! Oh, you saved me! (Tbe Actor stands very stiff and proud, stoic, except for a grin of self-satisfaction he can't guite sup­ press.) I'm free! Oh, thank you. THE ACTOR. (Pointing to Ibe heap of monsters.) Kill, kill, kill, kUl. THE ACTRESS. (7milaling.) Kill, kill, kill, kill. (Suddenly.) You wanna play doctor? THE ACTOR. No! THE ACTRESS. Well, I do.. THE ACTOR. Well, I don't. THE ACTRESS. I'll never let you be Mighty Mouse. THE ACTOR. 1 don't care. (A silence.) THE ACTRESS. Okay, then, I'm gonna tell! (Sbe steps on his foot.) THE ACTOR. I'll play! What will you do to me? THE ACTRESS. Give you a shot on your bottom. THE ACTOR. No. That hurts. THE ACTRESS. O.K., a pill. THE ACTOR. O.K. THE ACTRESS. You stay there, dolly. (Sbe places the doll on

41 Ibe floor, nearby. 7hen to tbe .^ctor.) And you lay down here and be sick. (Tie obeys.) THE ACTOR. No shot. (Sbe shakes ber bead.) THE ACTRESS. Yes, yes, yes, a very sick litde boy. (She panto­ mimes taking a tongue-depressor from her bag. She holds it near his moulb.) Say "Ah." THE ACTOR. (Clenching his teeth.) No. THE ACTRESS. (Losing her doctor's composure for a second.) You open your mouth, or I'll punch you! (Tie opens bis mouth and she pops the pill in.) That's right. Down into your tummy. There now, don't you feel better already? (A moment passes in which she stares at his body.) Now I check your pee pee. THE ACTOR. (Qetting up.) Oh, no! THE ACTRESS. Why not? Come on, show me it. THE ACTOR. No. 1 won't! And anyway you don't call it that. They're called "personals." THE ACTRESS. O.K. I wanna check your . . . THE ACTOR. No! (He begins walking around tbe stage to get away from her. She follows.) THE ACTRESS. Why not? THE ACTOR. Because! THE ACTRESS. Why because? THE ACTOR. Because I don't want to. (She continues after bim.) THE ACTRESS. (Raising her dress a little.) I'll show you mine. THE ACTOR. (7urns from her, putting bis hands over his eyes.) I don't wanna see yours! I don't wanna play! THE ACTRESS. You're not fair. This is the way you gotta play doctor. (Sbe continues following.) THE ACTOR. Stop following me! THE ACTRESS. You said you would play and now you gotta/ THE ACTOR. No! THE ACTRESS. Yes, yes! You gotta show me! THE ACTOR. (Moves to the spot where she put her doll down.) You better leave me alone. THE ACTRESS. (Smirking.) What'a ya gonna do? Come on, what'a ya gonna do? THE ACTOR. Something. THE ACTRESS. What? (7be Aclor reaches down and picks up

42 ber imaginary doll.) My doll! (7be Actor rui.s to the wall at tbe back of tbe stage with it. 7be -4ctress follows.) Gimmi. THE ACTOR. Oh, no. THE ACTRESS. Please . . . please . . . THE ACTOR. (Now at tbe wall.) I told you! 1 warned you to leave me alone. (Tie raises tbe doll over his bead.) I told you I didn't wanna play! THE ACTRESS. Don't! THE ACTOR. (Begins smashing Ibe doll against the wall.) Told you,, told you! THE ACTRESS. Don't! (Sbe tries desperately to get tbe doll away from him, but he pushes her away and continues smashing it.) THE ACTOR. Told you, told you! (Tbe Actress stands watching tbe dolt disintegrate.) There! (Tie kicks tbe remains toward her feet . . .) Now you can play doctor with ill It's really sick! THE ACTRESS. (Dropping tbe character of tbe child, for a mo­ ment.) Oh, you bastard. You cruel bastard! (Sf;e turns from him. kneels, crying, and slowly pulls tbe pieces of tbe broken doll to ber. Sbe is crying softly, to herself. Tbe ^ctor watches her, in­ tently. She begins to shake her head slowly, as she collects tbe pieces and tries to cradle them in her arms and rock them. A long moment passes, then, to herself, as the tears stream down her face.) Does it hurt very bad? (She looks up to an imaginary figure opposite tbe Aclor and speaks to her.) Mommy, why did you throw my doll at Daddy? (Sbe looks at another figure to the other side of Ibe Actor as she fingers the broken pieces of tbe doll.) Daddy, why did she? (As the Tatber first, she faces tbe spot where her Mother stands and speaks in her Tather's voice. Her face tightens. Tier words come from between her teeth.) FATHER. You have to break the kid's doll? MOTHER, yes, I had to! It's too bad it didn't crack your head open! FATHER. Listen! Can you hear yourself? MOTHER. How can anybody hear anything around here with that mouth of yours? FATHER. Me? Me7 Oh, that's rich. You're the one who's al­ ways running off. Yap, yap, yap. You never shut up one minute! MOTHER. Oh, God, I'm so sick of you I could just die. FATHER. Why don't you?

43 CHILD. Mommy, don't die. MOTHER. Do you have any idea how much I hate you? CHILD. Mommy, Daddy, do like this. (S/je imitates tbe sexual breathing.) I'll go to sleep. Honest. I promise. I'll go to sleep. I won't listen. FATHER. Do you have to do this in front of the kid? MOTHER. Yes! It's about time she found out what her father is. FATHER. Sure, that's it! Throw it on me! You're the saint! You're the perfect mother, right? Two Martinis and you're ready for a gang bang! MOTHER. Aghhh. Shut up! Shut that ugly mouth. FATHER. Ugly because it tells the truth? MOTHER. The truth is you haven't got the balls you were born with. FATHER. Oh, I got 'em, honey, but not for you. Not for you ever again. CHILD. Daddy, you can have my ball. FATHER. (7o tbe Child, in a soft voice.) Honey, why don't you go into the next room and color? MOTHER. No! I want her here. I want her to know. I want her to remember/ CHILD. I'll be good. I'll remember. FATHER. O.K. you want her to know, huh? OK! (7o tbe Child.) Listen, honey, you know Johnny and Mr. Gordon . . . ? MOTHER. Stop it! FATHER. You know what Mommy does with them? MOTHER. Don't! FATHER. (7o tbe Child, his voice softer.) She takes her clothes off with them and they do all kinds of disgusting things to each other. MOTHER. Bastard! FATHER. Horrible, rotten, disgusting things! CHILD. What's "disgusting"? MOTHER. (7o the Child, softly.) Listen. Listen to Monuny, honey. You know how sometimes at night you hear Daddy and Mommy doing this: (Sbe does the sexual breathing.) You know what I mean? (Child shakes her head "yes.") Well, a long time ago Daddy and Mommy did like that one night and we made you. Only we weren't married. CHILD. What's married?

44 MOTHER. Only we weren't married and . . . FATHER. Don't! MOTHER. We weren't married like other people. And pretty soon you began to grow in Mommy's stomach, bigger and big­ ger and bigger, and then 1 told Daddy about you. And you know what he wanted to do? FATHER. For God sake, don't! MOTHER. He wanted me to go to a doctor and he wanted the doctor to . . . FATHER. Please! MOTHER. ... to stick a long needle inside Mommy . . . way up inside until it went into you ... all the way into you . . . and. . . and killed you! (A long silence.) CHILD. (Singing plaintively.) "Mary had a little lamb, litde lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow." FATHER. Well, that's it. (7o tbe Child, softly.) Daddy has to go now. MOTHER. Mommy has to go, too. CHILD. (Reaching for her Mother.) Mommy? (As the Mother, she backs away from the Child, then walks C. and takes up her original position as the Child. She kneels and once again picks up the broken pieces of tbe doll. She hums softly to herself, then speaks to the doll.) You were my friend. My only friend. Does it hurt? Does it hurt very bad? (She looks up at the ^ctor.) I didn't mean to be disgusting. I'll remember. I'll be good. (7be Actor stares at her as sbe goes through a transformation back. She is Child no longer. Tbe doll vanished. Her head raises slowly as she looks the Actor squarely in the face. Then, calmly:) Well? THE ACTOR. (Shaken.) I . . . a . . . THE ACTRESS. Come on. Don't stall. THE ACTOR. Real. THE ACTRESS. You sure? THE ACTOR. I'm sure! It happened. THE ACTRESS. How do you know? THE ACTOR. I know, that's all. I just know. THE ACTRESS. Wouldn't Hke to change your mind? THE ACTOR. NO! THE ACTRESS. Last chance. THE ACTOR. No!

45 THE ACTRESS. Fake. THE ACTOR. Huh? THE ACTRESS. Fake. Fake! Improvised just now. THE ACTOR. Oh, come on. THE ACTOR. You really must learn to trust. Thai's a blind spot with you, you know. You just . . . don't . . . trust. THE ACTOR. It never happened? THE ACTRESS. Not until just now. THE ACTOR. You're lying. THE ACTRESS. I was an orphan from infancy, an ugly one. 1 can show my diploma; reward for spending 18 years with the good Sisters of St. Catherine's Orphanage. 1 never knew my par­ ents. So, you see, it couldn't have happened. Think I'll use that. Make her an orphan. Yes, she loves fiercely, protects, to make up for it. That's good. Helen can be a half sister. Hey, you with me? Oh, come on. You were wrong, flat wrong. Admit it. THE ACTOR. O.K. 1 admit it. THE ACTRESS. Bravo! A giant step. THE ACTOR. (After a silence.) You told me your parents were dead. THE ACTRESS. I know. THE ACTOR. Why? THE ACTRESS. We were never intimate in that sense, were we? You were the handsome-lover-leadingman-type-stud. Lots of sheet time, lots of wassail, and lots of luck, baby. But we never in­ dulged much in the nitty-gritty, as they say, did we? Oh no, my friend. Whenever it came around to a little honest terror-time . . . huh! I can still see you dropping to your starting crouch. You must have been a great track star. And I just stood around, soul-naked, and as you say, "losing it." (A moment.) THE ACTOR. (A long moment.) It occurs to me, now that you insist on bringing it up, that the terror seemed always yours. I remember . . . how long has it been . . . ? THE ACTRESS. Almost two years. THE ACTOR. Seems longer. I remember vaguely, in our long and comic alliance, several of my futile attempts, to display to you for my needs and your edification, my own bare-ass soul. And I remember, when I looked around for my clothes, after­ wards, you had always managed to tie them in knots. (A silence.) THE ACTRESS. Did I do that?

46 THE ACTOR. Didn't you? THE ACTRESS. I didn't mean to. THE ACTOR. 1 know. (A long silence.) THE ACTRESS. Well, what the hell! History! Right? THE ACTOR. Right. (Another long silence.) THE ACTRESS. A . . . listen . . . about the improvisation . . . (Tie looks at her c^ueslioningly.) The part about the needle. See, a . . . right after we broke up, I ... a ... 1 needed someone . . . well . . . which led to a dismal indiscretion.—You don't know him—during the course of which, dumbbell me ran out of pills—which led to a merry week-end in Puerto Rico—which led to some complications, one of which is called peritonitis—which led to all kinds of fancy knife work—which . . . (A long si­ lence. They look at each other. He shakes his bead. She smiles.) Pretty dumb, huh? THE ACTOR. (After a long moment.) Is that for real? THE ACTRESS. Cross my heart. (Tbey seem lo have no words to say to each other. 7be stage is filled with silence. Both are deep in their own thoughts. 7be Actress walks lo stage right and leans against the proscenium. 7be silence continues for a moment longer.) You know, that orphanage wasn't bad. Kinda nice, really, some of the time. (A moment. She sings.) "Kyrie,e,e,e,e,e,lei." Used to sing that in the choir. I was pretty good, too. Priest says, "Omnia secula seculorum. Amen. Oremus. Et cum spirit tu tuo." The candles . . . incense ... the litde bells going jingle, jangle, jingle. Remember that song, "7 Qot Spurs ..." Well, everytime I knew the bells were going to ring, I'd sing to myself, "I got spurs that . . ." and the bells would go jingle, jangle, jingle. "Hail Mary, full of grapes." I got the girls to say that a whole week before the nuns caught on. The confessional ... so cool and dark. I kinda miss the idea of him, don't you? Who killed cock Robin of Nazareth? You kinda forget the bad parts. At least you think you do. (A silence.) Huh! We still have our old ghosts and monsters, don't we? That hasn't changed. (She locks herself in.) Lock, lock, lock, lock. (Sbe looks at them.) Here they are, like that thing of yours in the closet. THE ACTOR. What are you talking about? THE ACTRESS. You don't remember? THE ACTOR. What? THE ACTRESS. Boston?

47 THE ACTOR. Boston. Boston. What happened in Boston? THE ACTRESS. That's what I'd like to know. Oh, boy, I remem­ ber it like it was two minutes ago. Us in bed. I ask you to get my robe. You get up and go to the closet and then . . . freeze! You can't move. You can't open the door. What was in there? THE ACTOR. Nodiing. THE ACTRESS. You're lying. THE ACTOR. I told you nothing/ Now forget it, huh? THE ACTRESS. (Sbe laughs ironically.) Well, you're consistent. Gotta give you that. The same, convenient amnesia, the same sleight of hand. That hasn't changed either. Lots of yocks and flash, and nobody sees behind the make-up. How sad. What a sad, strong man you are. What's in there? THE ACTOR. I don't know I THE ACTRESS. Yes you do. THE ACTOR. Hey, ever hear this one? "There was a young girl of Kilkenny Who was worried by lovers so many That the saucy young elf Now does raffle herself And the tickets are two for a penny." THE ACTRESS. (Shaking her head. A sad smile.) The clown. The prestidigitator . . . THE ACTOR. Hey, I ever show you my imitation of a man going up in an elevator? (Tie stands motionless, his bands stiff at his sides, staiirg straight ahead. Sbe watches him. her face se­ rious.) Same guy going down. (Tie repeals tbe picture. Tier ex­ pression does not change. He glances at her and walks off nerv­ ously.) Pretty good huh? (Tie takes a sheet of newspaper and begins folding it into a hat. A long heavy silence.) A . . . how are you now? THE ACTRESS. Oh, fine. THE ACTOR. All recovered . . , ? THE ACTRESS. Yes . . . fully recovered . . . THE ACTOR. Those things can be pretty dangerous. THE ACTRESS. So it seems. THE ACTOR. You . . . a . . . you could have gotten in tuuch with me . . . you know.

48 THE ACTRESS. What for? (Tie finishes tbe bat.) THE ACTOR. Well ... 1 ... (Tie is at a loss for words.) THE ACTRESS. (looking al Ibe bal.) What is that? THE ACTOR. It's an idiot hat for when we guess wrong. (Tie puts it on.) THE ACTRESS. Is that necessary? THE ACTOR. Absolutely! How can we know who's the idiot unless he or she is wearing the hat? Ridiculous question. (A si­ lence.) Boy, that was some improvisation. THE ACTRESS. Thank you. (A moment. He studies ber, as if trying to make up his mind about something.) THE ACTOR. (Tic paces for a moment, working something out in his mind, glancing to her from lime lo lime. Tinally he stops.) A . . . thirteen year old kid . . . bedroom . . . night. Awake, but the eyes are closed. Sweating . . . tongue, dry. Trying to sleep. Eyes press tighter. (Tie listens.) Breathing! Is that me . . . or . . . the closet? Me? There? Something facing me in there. (Tie pauses. His breathing is rapid, labored.) Fifteen . . . alone . . . bedroom again . . . lights on. Goset door open a little. Can't go to it. Get up! Just walk over . . . pull it open . . . quick! The breathing again ... me? There? Just reach out and . . . (Tie is frozen wilh terror, suddenly, he breaks.) A ... no. That one's no good. I'll start again. Different one. Right? (Sbe nods.) Subway train . . . O.K.? THE ACTRESS. O.K. (Qradually tbe Actor's body reads lo Ibe movement of the train. He once more becomes a Utile boy. He turns to his Mother at his side and begins the improvisation, doing both voices.) CHILD. Will you buy me a Captain Marvel comic when we get there? MOTHER. What? CHILD. Buy me a comic? MOTHER. Stop talking about comics! CHILD. Why are you crying? MOTHER. Papa is very sick. CHILD. But when he gets better he'll come home from the hos­ pital and you'll be happy. MOTHER. Yes, very happy. CHILD. (Hugging her.) 1 love you, Mama. (Pause.) When's hi* coming home?

49 MOTHER. Soon, soon, please God. CHILD. (Reciting.) "Cod made me to know Him, to love Him, and to honor Him above all things." I learned it good. Is God in the sky? MOTHER. He's everywhere. CHILD. Is He in New York city? MOTHER. Yes. CHILD. God must be very big. (Tiis allilude suddenly changes. He gets up from the chair and paces. looking into an imaginary doorway from lime to time and glancing through tbe pages of his comic.) Boy, hospitals smell funny. (Tie looks through tbe door.) Gee, Papa looks . . . they got all them needles and things stuck in him. I can't see his face. Those things are really funny, they got stuck in him. Mama sure cried a lot. (Then reading the comic.) In this one, Captain Marvel loses his voice and can't say "Shazam." 1 think I would be scared to see God if he's so big. I wish we could go home . . . home . . . home. (Tie opens tbe refrigerator and paniomimes making a sandwich.) 1 love this kind. It's so gooey and . . . MOTHER. Is that all you're having for lunch? CHILD. I like peanut butter. Can't I have it? MOTHER. Listen, I have something to tell you. CHILD. (Singsonging it as he lugs at her.) Papa's coming home. Papa's coming home! MOTHER. No. CHILD. (Continuing to singsong.) He's coming home, coining home . . . MOTHER. Listen to me I (A pause.) Papa went away. God took him. CHILD. To Heaven? MOTHER. Yes. CHILD. (After a long silence.) Is he dead? MOTHER. Yes. (A long moment and then his reaction begins. Something seems lo well up in bis throat, a sense of overwhelm­ ing joy. Laughter pushes up from his throat and twists his face into contortions of hilarity which he tries to hide. But tbe sound of the laughter pushes past his pressed lips as he struggles help­ lessly lo control first a snigger, then a nervous giggle. Tinally, he must surrender lo peals of exultant laughter that burst from bis slomacb.)

50 THE ACTRESS. Oh, arist! THE ACTOR. Well? THE ACTRESS. The first or the second? THE ACTOR. The second. THE ACTRESS. A ... no ... I don't diink so. THE ACTOR. What? THE ACTRESS. It didn't happen. THE ACTOR. It did! 7t did! Just like diat! THE ACTRESS. But ... you .. . laughed . . . THE ACTOR. I TO^OWl I KNOW! You wanted a little opening up, a little honest terror time? Well, you got it, baby. Oh, it may not seem much to a woman of your emotional capacities, but for me ... ? (Tie cannot find the words. He is shaking wilh anger.) Well, what-the-hell does it take? Nothing changes, does it? You still can't recognize the real thing . . . recognize me I Oh, Christ, what's the use? You want solace . . . comfort . . . love and you don't give a thing . . . not a Goddam thing! You cry and scream so loud about how painful everything is for you, you drown everybody else out! Everybody! But most of all, me I O.K., you got it, bitch; real, all real . . . and you couldn't tell. Well, no more free shows! No more! Bitch! (Tie walks offstage. Sbe follows to tbe side curtain and stops.) THE ACTRESS. Wait! Please! THE ACTOR. (Trom onstage.) Stay away from me! Just stay away! (Sbe stands watching him exit.) THE ACTRESS. I'm sorry! I want to know! (She crosses back on stage, walks to an empty chair and speaks lo it as if he were pres­ ent.) You're right I've never been able to see you. (A long mo­ ment. She peers out into the darkness.) Why? Why 7 (Lights fade out with music.)

END OF ACT I

51 ACT TWO:

REDEMPTION

52 ACT TWO

SCENE: The same as previous. 7be curtain has remained open during intermission. 7be bouse goes dark and the original stage lighting cross fades up to where it was in Act One. Nothing has changed. AT RISE: 7be Actress is sitting on one of tbe chairs, read­ ing tbe newspaper which is sltll folded into tbe idiot hat. A long moment.

THE ACTOR. (Trom offstage.) Hey! (7be Actress (Quickly places the hat on her head and goes in tbe direction of the poice, u.) Hey! (The Actress loolis around.) THE ACTRESS. Where are you? THE ACTOR. (Trom onstage.) Up here on the catwalk! (7be Actress walks further upstage.) THE ACTRESS. Where? THE ACTOR, (Trom offstage.) Up here on the catwalk! (7be Actress looks up into the darkness of tbe fly rigging, shading ber eyes.) THE ACTRESS. What are you doing . . . ? THE ACTOR. Just wanted to look around . . . now I can't find my way down. THE ACTRESS. Be careful . . . THE ACTOR. (Offstage.) It's dark up here. THE ACTRESS. It's dark up there. What did you say? THE ACTOR. (Offstage.) It's dark up here. I don't know which way to turn. I'm afraid I could . . . (Tie screams.) THE ACTRESS. What? What is it? THE ACTOR. (Offstage.) I fell. 1 ... I'm just . . . just hang­ ing on ... I can't . . . I . . . THE ACTRESS. Don't move! I'll get help. THE ACTOR. (Ojfslage.) No use! I can't hold on! I can't! (^^e screams. A body comes hurtling down out of tbe fly gallery, narrowly missing her. She puts her hands lo her face and screams. Tbe body crashes to tbe floor.)

53 THE ACTRESS. Oh my God! My God I (Sbe rushes to tbe body. Just at that moment. Ibe -4clor swings across tbe stage on a rope, a paper bag in his teetb, screaming a Tarzan yell, and beating his cbest. Tie misjudges his swing and sails right through a flat and crashes to the floor. Tbe paper bag falls from his mouth. He grimaces in pain and rubs bis leg.) THE ACTOR. Aghhhhh! My leg! I think I broke my leg! Oh gee that hurts. Oh . . . oh, my poor leg. (Tbe Actress looks at bim for a moment then walks to bim.) THE ACTRESS. It should have been your head! I about had a heart attack. (She sees he is in real pain.) Let me see. THE ACTOR. (Screaming.) No! Don't touch it! THE ACTRESS. Well I was only trying to . . . THE ACTOR. Look for me. I'm afraid. THE ACTRESS. (Lifting his Irouser leg gently.) I can't . . . THE ACTOR. (Smiling wickedly.) What do you see up there? THE ACTRESS. (Realizing she's been duped.) You ... ! THE ACTOR. Want some coffee? THE ACTRESS. (Looking at tbe crushed bag.) I doubt if there is any. THE ACTOR. Oh sure there is. (He picks up the bag carefully. He gingerly reaches into and lakes out two empty containers, one of them crushed, then, guite skillfully he pours the coffee re- mainitig in tbe bag into one of tbe containers and hands it to her.) We'll have to share. THE ACTRESS. (Tascinaled at this last maneuver.) You're re­ markable! THE ACTOR. (Smugly.) I know. I know. (Tbey pass the con­ tainer back and forth. A silence.) Pretty good with the dummy, ha? Found the costume in the back room. Pretty good, ha? THE ACTRESS. Why do you do these things? THE ACTOR. How'd you know I'd come back? THE ACTRESS. I didn't. (Sbe looks around the stage.) I just coiddn't leave. How'd you know 7'd he here? THE ACTOR. I didn't. THE ACTRESS. (Holding up the crushed cup.) Two cups? THE ACTOR. Well . . . I . . . a . . . drink a lot of cof­ fee .. . THE ACTRESS. (An embarrassed silence. This is difficult for

54 ber.) I . . . a . . . wanted to apologize. I should have known. (Sbe points to tbe bat on her head.) See, I kept this. THE ACTOR. Skip it. (Tie takes tbe bat from ber bead and throws it on tbe floor. She lakes a .sip of coffee.) THE ACTRESS. (Sbe shakes ber bead. A womcnl of silence.) You're a very funny man. You know that? THE ACTOR. (Suddenly picking it up. Tlis body i;cry animated now. Tie goes into a heavy brogue.) Funny? Funny, is it? You think I'm funny? Did 1 ever tell youse about me Uncle Tim? THE ACTRESS. (£augbing.) No, you didn't. THE ACTOR. Oh well then, I must! Timothy P. Sheehy! The "P" was for persiflage the which of, he was indisputed champion in all of Kilkenny. A Logogriphic art which he learned . . . THE ACTRESS. Logogriphic? THE ACTOR. . . . which he learned at a tender age in the be- love labyrinths of sottown. The three R's was anathema so his texts came from the three B's, bars, brothels, and bromides. (Tbe victress chuckles.) He was the only buck in the country who could boast varicose of the face. (Tl'ilb a wink.) Drinker, he was if youse knows what I mean? He'd anthracite eyes, which, of course, made the muckers constant jealous since theirs was mostly bituminous. His capacity for sex was whispered about in secluded bathrooms and school latrines by envious men and twitch fingered boys. He'd a pair of testicles the size of demijohns. THE ACTRESS. (laughing.) Ole. THE ACTOR. . . '. The size of two demijohns, if it were not that he were a man of easily four cubits height, great trouble might a'come of it. (She laughs.) Oh, yes, he wasn't called persiflage for jest. Why he persiflaged all over the place, till Kilkenny, from the market rows to the abbey gates rang with the perambulated progeny of Timothy P. (Tbe Actress laughs, clapping. Bowing graciously.) Thank ye. Alliteration was always me fortissimo. In a word, mc uncle was a man; oh 1 can see him now. I was no big­ ger than a polite fart, huddled in a corner of O'Connel's bar, eat- in' a potato. (Tie walks to c, in front of her.) He was standin' in the middle of the room. A pint of ale in his hand. In a chair. Right there, (Tie points to bar.) was the barmaid, Meg. A sight! Her thighs had rocked three quarters of the male population of Kilkenny to sweet bliss and obliteration. Meg! Gay as a lark and loony as a good cock. Laughter comin' out of every sphincter.

55 (Tbe Actress laughs deeply.) Ay, like that. Sweet to the car it was. But deep sad she was inside, for with all that rockin' never had a son been born her, or even a daughter or for that matter, even a tiny animal. Sad it was. So . . . getting back. How well I remember it. There she sat. And here he stood. They ha^ just tossed out a drunk, screaming like a banshee, amid tears and pro­ fuse mea culpas something or other about being buggered by his uncle in the gazebo at the celebrations of his thirteenth birthday. (She puts her hand lo her moulb lo suppress Ibe laiigblcr.) Or was it his fourteenth? Dunno. Anyways, they had dumped him in the gutter and Timothy P. stood in front of Meg, singin' her a song, formin' it as he went, out'a his brain, like this ... (He takes a stance, puts his hands on his hips, losses bis head back and sings.) Ohhhh, from Galway Bay to County Down I've dipped a wick or two But of all the wicks I've ever dipped, Meg, There's none come close to you. (Tie jigs around ber, .singing the chorus.) Ohhhh, an idler's life I've surely led Cock sure of life was I And if every piece I've had means hell, Bejaisus how I'll fry? (Tie laughs and kicks his feel in the air. Tic kiuv's in fronl of her and takes her hands in his. 7be Actress laughs wilh the .victor.) Come, Meg, dance with me. THE ACTRESS. (Prolesliug. taking the brogue.) Oh, no I . . . THE ACTOR. Come, I say! THE ACTRESS. Timothy P. . . . (Sbe l.mgbs.) THE ACTOR. Ay that's the way! Glorious ya arc, and I mean ya ta dance with me! (Tie lifts her and ihey dance wildly across the stage as he sings:) There's girls with curls and tidy frills There's ladies with proper bustles But give me a twist like you, dear Meg, With her backsides full of muscles. (He .\laps her on Ibe 'backsides." She l«iiigbs.) Now sing, Meg. (She joins the singing as Ihey dance faster and faster.) Ohhhh, an idler's life I've surely led

56 Cock sure of life was I And if every piece . . . I've h.id means hell, Bejaisus won't I fry? (Tbey both laugh.) Bejaisus how I'll fry. (They are iwirling madly. Tbey trip and fall in a heap, tumbling over one another, laughmg. 7be Actor holds her tightly in his arms as their huigblcr subsides.) Oh, listen, Meg. You're me only refuge. When I'm weary and alone, here you are! When I'm filled with grief over the warld's unlivin'. Cod in his heaven, here you are! THE ACTRESS. Oh, Tim . . . THE ACTOR. Hail Mary, the sons we'll have . . . THE ACTRESS. I can't! You know I can't! 1 was made inside ta hold men's sorrows and it seems the good Lord left room fer litde else. THE ACTOR. Hush! I've it all planned. I shall make us a chUd. I'll form him inside me, out'a me seed. And then . . . (Tie whis­ pers.) then . . . when no one is about, I'll slip hjun to ya. And they'll never know. THE ACTRESS. (A sad laugh.) Oh Tim . . . THE ACTOR. Ay, never/ An' you'll keep him inside ya till he's fat and full of screams and then pop him out. So perfect he could say his rosary. Oh, Christ, won't he be something? Meg? Won't he? THE ACTRESS. Mr. Sheehy, off with you. THE ACTOR. Oh, Meg, listen . . . lislenl Whatever arms held me in this wounded and wasted world, I was forever lonely till I came into yours, and . . . THE ACTRESS. Me heart is too small to hold the like a'them words. THE ACTOR. Hear me . . . and I shall gentle love you until forever, if you let me. THE ACTRESS. If it could only be so. If we could ... (Tie puts his hand gently over her moutb. He holds ber tightly, kiss­ ing her on the eyes.) THE ACTOR. (Dropping Ibe brogue.) In all the yelling and hurting, I keep reaching for you. You know that. THE ACTRESS. (Sbe is startled for a moment, then sbe also

57 drops the brogue ii'bcii she ^pcaks. She foiKbes bis face, traces the lilies of bis featuies as if lo cstahltsb its leality in this mo­ ment.) ... if we just weren't ... so afraid . . . THE ACTOR. (Jlolding her closer.) Hold tight! (Sbe tesponds.) Yes . . . that's it! There's no fear now ... is there? THE ACTRESS. No. But after . . . THE ACTOR. There's just now . . . now! (He kisses her on the moulb. Tbe kiss is long.) Tighter! (Sbe bugs bim lighter.) THE ACTRESS. That's you, isn't it? Really you. THE ACTOR. (Xis.sing her.) It's been so long ... so long. THE ACTRESS. Man. Oh, you, man ... 1 breathe! Breathe again . . . ! THE ACTOR. (7Ioldiiig her lo bim lightly.) There is no after! Just now! Now! THE ACTRESS. (Kissing him back. She is crying and laughing at the same time. Tragments of words come Ibrotigb.) Yes ... so long. Oh ... I ... 1 breathe again ... I feel . . . 1 . . . (Tbe Aclor begins lo pull away from her.) THE ACTOR. O.K., that's it. (Tie Iries lo pull her arms from around his neck, but she holds on.) I said that's il.' (Sbe continues trying lo kiss bim.) THE ACTRESS. No . . . no . . . please . . . THE ACTOR. (Still trying lo disenlaiigle himself.) Cut it out! THE ACTRESS. Don't pull away . . . THE ACTOR. Stop it! THE ACTRESS. Stay! THE ACTOR. (Violently pushing her away from him.) It's over! (A sudden silence. He moves away from her.) Well, there it is . . . you were out of it again . . . THE ACTRESS. (Putting her hands over ber ears and scream­ ing.) Shut up! Shut your goddamn mouth! Shut up! Shut up! (-Another long silence. Sbe holds herself Iryin) to get control. Her shaking finally subsides. Sbe looks al him.) THE ACTOR. Oh, look, you know where ic would have ended. THE ACTRESS. Where? THE ACTOR. (Pointing.) Right there on the floor. THE ACTRESS. So you pushed me away? THE ACTOR. What else could I do? THE ACTRESS. I wonder? THE ACTOR. Look, you wanna make it that bad, I take you out

58 for a coupl'a drinks, we go to my place, get in bed, and do the deed. But not . . . THE ACTRESS. (Trying desperately lo control her humiliation and anger.) How could you . . . ? How could you do that to me? THE ACTOR. You do it to yourself! Haven't you found that out yet? THE ACTRESS. Bang! That steel trap mind again! (Sbe laughs bitterly.) Oh, boy, you have everything under control all the time, don't you? That seems to be your fortissimo! Well tell me why I lost it then. (A silence.) Come on! Tell me! THE ACTOR. (Turning away from ber.) Please, I don't want to embarrass you. THE ACTRESS. Go ahead! I give you permission this time. THE ACTOR. O.K., you want it straight? You know what you do here? You compensate. You just let it all out, and you use whoever happens to be around at the time, and you don't care what happens! THE ACTRESS. And you do? THE ACTOR. You damned right! You're too much! What you do here is like masturbation. THE ACTRESS. Please, darling, the polite word is self-abuse. You think that I'm sexually frustrated . . . THE ACTOR. Pmitating her.) "Oh . . . man .... I breathe again ... I feel ... I, I, I ... me ... me .. . me." The lyrics never change. THE ACTRESS. O.K., let's do it. THE ACTOR. Wnat? THE ACTRESS. Go up to your place and hump. THE ACTOR. You're crazy! THE ACTRESS. Frustrated. Come on. You said it . . . "Coupl'a drinks, do the deed." THE ACTOR. Oh, please . . . THE ACTRESS. Come on! THE ACTOR. Stop it, will you! I'm just trying to show you how ridiculous you are. (.Another silence.) THE ACTRESS. (Shaking ber bead.) By offering me the solace of your bed and body . . . ? THE ACTOR. By demonstrating one same old ludicrous conclu­ sion to everything.

59 THE ACTRESS. I thought it was a compassionate offer. THE ACTOR. You would. THE ACTRESS. I did. I actually did! (A long pause. Sbe shakes her head.) I can't believe it. All that, just to get me. How does it taste? THE ACTOR. What're you talking about? THE ACTRESS. Revenge. They say you can taste it. THE ACTOR. Look, think what you want. The fact of the mat­ ter is I've spent almost two hours trying to help you with this play . . . THE ACTRESS. There he goes with that sleight of hand . . . THE ACTOR. . . . trying to pound into that thick head of yours the nature of controlled illusion . . . THE ACTRESS. Is that what you've been doing? Oh, my, that sounds technical. Is that that Russian thing? THE ACTOR. Go ahead, play the idiot! THE ACTRESS. Why not? I've got the hat. (She puis the hat back on her head.) There, how's that look? THE ACTOR. (Sarcastically.) Beautiful . . . terrific! THE ACTRESS. Hooray, I'm a success at something at last! (Sbe begins marching around.) Hup, two, three, four. Hup, two, three, four. (She assumes a lough expression as she inspects an imag­ inary rank.) O.K., youse guys, when Sergeant Idiot tells you to right dress, you dress right! There's been too much hystericalitis around here, lately. (Sbe continues inspecting, her hands on her hips.) O.K.! I'm not your Mother, so you can't cry to me. I'm not your sweetheart so you can't screw me. You're gonna straighten up. Hear? Yer gonna toe the mark, hold ranks, stay on the ball and fly right! That's my orders and them's yours. Now, let's have a great big cheer for the general. Great big cheer now, an' I wanna bear it. (Sbe raises her hands over her head.) THE ACTOR. Try to get hold of yourself. THE ACTRESS. O.K., General. (Sbe crosses lo in front of him, standing at attention.) I'm really for the coup de grace. (She sa­ lutes bim, then hands him the bat.) My hat. (Sbe pantomimes handing him the following.) My medals. My sword. Never used that much. Litde rusty. Sorry. My epaulettes. (Sbe tears them off.) My hopes and my identity. Ambiguous as it may be, it still holds a certain amount of honest tears and laughter. I give you these with relief. You got me, Nathan, got me good. Oh, my

60 offense was rank. I did not guess your pain correct. But my sin was without motive. Without motive! (A long silence. She will not let herself lose control.) THE ACTOR. I . ... a . . . think you should give up this kind of work. Talk to your analyst. Bet he agrees . . . THE ACTRESS. I can't! See, there are certain things inside me that . . . that have to get out. And this seems to be the only place left ... THE ACTOR. What things? THE ACTRESS. What you're so scared of; (She yells.) to feel and show what 1 feel without playing the game or wearing the mask! (Quietly.) But I see, even here, that's not acceptable. THE ACTOR. For Christ sake, here is where you come to play the game and wear the mask! THE ACTRESS. (Angrily.) No! That's what you do! 1 come to find out what I am! What-the-hell I am! And 1 don't do it for the sake of Christ! I do it for me! THE ACTOR. And just what are you? THE ACTRESS. Afraid! Yes . . . that's what 1 am . . . mosdy ... I guess. An organism of fear. (A long pause. She turns away from bim.) Oh . . . there are hungers I feel occasionally through certain glandular secretions. But for the most part, I . . . am . . . afraid. It's made me niggardly of soul. Not as much as you, but, yes, niggardly of soul. Oh, God, that's terrible. My fear is slowly making me superior, like you. (A pause.) How about that? I'm beginning to experience everything with forethought, like you. Like you! I can see the result of everything I do, so I make up little patterns of behavior beforehand. 1 know the "out there" intimately and it makes me afraid, and afraid for you, and . . . No, I don't come here to play the game. I come to roast, to hurt, to cry, to do all the things I was bom to do. And so do you! So do you! (A pause.) You say I can't tell the difference between what's real and what's not. Well, neither can you. Because your reality is the "out there," and mine is here between us, in the pain and surrender to what I feel. Yes, every disgusting thing I feel! (A silence. She looks at him.) What do you feel? You with your "control"? Anything? Anything at all? You have all the accoutrements of a human being; the techniques of laughter, anger, passion. (She .shakes ber head.) You're a bril­ liant actor, but you fail dismally when you try to be you, what-

61 ever that is. So far I've only seen glimpses. And so . . . and so, and so ... if I masturbate . . . it's because the most 1 can ex­ pect from you is artificial insemination. (A long silence. Tbe Actor shakes his tiead. then moves lo her.) THE ACTOR. (Very calmly.) Look, baby. Tliis is not Bellevue. This is a stage! (Tie stamps his foot to demonstrate its substance.) A place where professional actors come to practice and perform' the art of creating illusion, and not to use other actors for the gratification of dieir sick egos. It's not an asylum or sanctuary where we can piece together the wreckage of our lii;es/ Come here. (She moves to him.) You see that? (Tie points to tbe cur­ tain.) What is it? THE ACTRESS. A curtain. THE ACTOR. Very good. Part of the stage. See? THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. Yes, I see that. THE ACTOR. O.K. The curtain opens and closes, see? (She nods.) Right. And it says to the audience, "Let's pretend." Be­ fore any actor says a word, the curtain says, "We're going to ask you to go along with this fiction for a while." Then we play the play, and the curtain closes and everybody talks to each other about what happened up here. See? The curtain controls the be­ ginning of what happens and it controls how far it goes. It's the first voice of the theatre . . . control . . . control! Now some­ times with skill or good material, we receive acceptance from the audience . . . sometimes . . . yes, sometimes even loue. That's very nice. We are, you might say, fulfilled. But when that closes, as it always must. Always! We must go back to the "out there." Back to reality ... the only reality! Oh, we can have oi^r brief moments on the carousel, stroked, caressed, but eventually all the acceptance and love must make the eleven-thirty back to Scars- dale. And there is no way to stop it! That comes down! We can­ not linger. The out there is all that's left. And, baby, that's all there is. There is nothing else. Accept it! Now, I've explained it to you quiedy and plainly, haven't I? THE ACTRESS. (Tighting the tears.) Yes. THE ACTOR. O.K., now do yourself a favor. Get out before it's too late. You've got the makings of a beautiful schizophrenia here. THE ACTRESS. (Looking at him. then (fuietly. strangely.) If

62 . . . once . . . just once . . . you could stop answering ray questions with answers. (A silence. She gets control of herself.) Tell me about your Uncle, Timothy. THE ACTOR. There is no uncle. THE ACTRESS. I know, I know, but there should be. There really should. How sad. How wonderful, too. I mean your being able to do all that. You really are very good. But, of course, you know that, don't you? THE ACTOR. (Looking at his watch and starting for coat.) Come on, I'll buy you a drink. THE ACTRESS. No. THE ACTOR. O.K., then, I'll see you at the rehearsal. I really need one. THE ACTRESS. Stay! THE ACTOR. What for? THE ACTRESS. Do another improvisation with me. THE ACTOR. (Starting off again.) So long. THE ACTRESS. Please! (There is a desperation in ber voice that makes him slop and took at her.) Just one more. I won't lose it. I'll hold on. I swear I will. THE ACTOR. You can't! You just can't! THE ACTRESS. I will! Try me! I appeal to ... to your sense of fair play. You gotta give me my last turn. You gotta! (A mo­ ment's silence, then challengingly.) How about it, Heathcliff, think you can cut it? THE ACTOR. (The gauntlet is down. He looks at ber a long moment, then looks at his watcb.) O.K. O.X.I (He walks lo tbe wings.) Be right back. THE ACTRESS. (Crossing with him.) Don't leave! THE ACTOR. I'm not I THE ACTRESS. Where are you going? THE ACTOR. If you must know, I have to take a leak. I'll be right back. Gwendolyn. I wouldn't miss this for anything. THE ACTRESS. You promise? THE ACTOR. I promise. Oh, do I promise! THE ACTRESS. See you soon. (Sbe waves.) THE ACTOR. (Trom offstage.) Yes, soon, soon! THE ACTRESS. (Still waving to him.) Bon voyage, ciau, adios. Cod bless. (Sbe puts her hand lo ber moutb, nervously, biting ber fingernails. She turns and surveys the stage. Sbe crosses to c. and

63 stands for a long moment. Then sbe extends her arms as her head comes up. She look., around at the emptiness, then folds ber arms into her body as if trying lo pull it alt inside. She closes ber eyes and bows her head. She holds this position for a long moment, then lifts her head and opens her eyes. She begins to walk around tbe stage. Sbe comes lo the apron and slightly stoops, ber band shading her eyes, peering past tbe stage lights toward tbe audi­ ence. She holds this pose for a long, unsettling moment.) Huhl (Sbe shakes ber head and steps back, her hand still shading ber eyes, and tries lo see into Ibe balconies. Trom ber expression, we see she cannot. She drops her band. She peers out toward Ibe audience once more and says, suddenly:) I know you're out there. I know, I know, I know, know . . . know . . . nol (She turns to the spot where the Aclor stood and directs ber speech there.) No, I don't come for the game! you do. You, you, true, blue, screwed and tattooed, you I (Sbe laughs.) A sailor taught me that. Stop looking so surprised. I occasionally go out with sailors. Jealous? Good. I'm glad. We ball. 1 mean, we really freak out! Oh, hell, that's not true. I am by nature a very quiet person. (Sbe peers into tbe bouse.) You hear that? By nature a very guiet person! Why in a room of crowded people you can hardly hear me breathe. And the visceral noises I make are usu­ ally done in private, out of earshot. I do not drown people out! That's a lie! (Back to the Actor.) I'm really a very quiet person. And rather delicate. (To Ibe bouse.) Delicate! (To the Actor.) Fragile. My heart beats also by whim. (A silence.) About your not wanting to show me your er . . . "personals." Now I've been giving that considerable thought, 0mitating him.) and I've come to the conclusion that you've got the makings of a beautiful sex repression going there. I mean, what-the-hell, every­ body plays doctor sometime. Uh huh. I'd look into that if I were you. If I was me. If we were we. If we were we we wouldn't be doing this, would we? What would we be doing? Why, we'd be being we! (Imitating him.) "We do not come here to piece together the wreckage of our lives." I like that. Kind of apoca­ lyptic. Good dodge, Charlie Brown, but you can't fool me. I knew you when you were just a belly. (A silence.) O.K. O.K., now I get you, "Bernard." You think you've got everydiing fig­ ured out, huh? Well I'll show you reality. I'll find out who the hell you are. O.K., baby. Your rules ... no second chances. One

64 card stud, and the stakes are us! I'll show you what this place is for. I'll give you a 'ludicrous conclusion" to all of this. (Tbe .^clor returns from the opposite wing, surprising ber.) Oh, you're back. You came back. THE ACTOR. You knew I would. THE ACTRESS. But you went out this way. (She points to tbe wing where he exited.) THE ACTOR. The ones in the lobby are always cleaner. Who were you talking to? THE ACTRESS. Nobody. THE ACTOR. You sure you're all right? THE ACTRESS. I was talking to . . . (Sbe points to the bouse. forming the word "them.") THE ACTOR. (As if placating a Utile child.) Oh "diem." THE ACTRESS. Yes. THE ACTOR. You ready? THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. THE ACTOR. Know what you want to do? THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. THE ACTOR. You sure you ... ? THE ACTRESS. Very sure. THE ACTOR. O.K. No breathing exercises? THE ACTRESS. Oh, no. Ready? THE ACTOR. Right. (Tie walks c. and pauses a moment.) THE ACTRESS. Oh, could we use the curtain? THE ACTOR. What for? THE ACTRESS. I think it would help me. THE ACTOR. (Walking R.) Sure, why not? THE ACTRESS. No, really, I think it would. You know mth die "let's pretend" and all. Kind of set things. THE ACTOR. (Offstage.) Sure, sure. THE ACTRESS. Ready? THE ACTOR. (Offstage.) Yes! I'm ready! I've been ready! THE ACTRESS. Right. Places l And ... oh, don't you diink an introduction . . . ? THE ACTOR. Of course! Why not? (Tbe curtain closes jerkily behind ber as sht steps out onto the apron. She shields her eyes as she peers out into Ibe bouse. Sbe Jcars her throat.) THE ACTRESS. Ladies and gendemen, the management takes great pleasure in presenting, together again, those two sweethearts

65 of the American stage, America's darlings; Peter Paranoia and Sarah Schizo! (She applauds and whistles.) Here to delight, amaze, and electrify you with disappearing acts and assorted pornographic entertainment. (Through the curtain.) Herman, you getting this? (Tie mumbles.) You are about to see a play per­ formed extemporaneously, by two professional actors on this professional stage. (Sbe stamps ber foot as he did earlier. Tbe actor mumbles something once more from behind the curtain.) What? (Tie mumbles.) Peter, the other professional actor, (Sbe stamps her foot.) says I'm out of my friggin' mind. And the same to you, Charlie! (Sl)e turns and tries lo find her way back on stage through tbe curtain.) CURTAIN! Could 7 please get back! (Tbe curtain suddenly opens. Sbe walks onstage. The Ador comes from tbe wings and joins her. Sbe looks al him for a long moment, figuring.) THE ACTOR. Now what? THE ACTRESS. O.K. . . . O.K. No copping-out. We do it Right? THE ACTOR. We do it. We do it! THE ACTRESS. (Sbe makes ber decision, then looking at him all Ibe wbile, sbe walks around him ascribing a large square.) O.K. Boston. THE ACTOR. Oh, yeah? THE ACTRESS, yeah! Hotel Touraine . . . February . . . room 613 .. . (Sbe points L.) window. (Sbe walks past tbe ladder, pointing to it.) You're at the door. (Sbe walks U. and points.) Bathroom. Bed. (Sbe points lo other invisible objects.) Dresser, closet, TV, night stand. THE ACTOR. Night stand was on your side of the bed. THE ACTRESS. Tliank you. (She waltu D. C, takes a moment, then ascribes a door wilh her arm.) Qoset . . . THE ACTOR. Right. THE ACTRESS. (She lums lo him. A long .noment.) That's it, my love. Now, of course, if you feel you can't . . . THE ACTOR. The night we finished it. THE ACTRESS. Uh huh. I know it's a little unfair to spring this one on you . . . THE ACTOR. All right. THE ACTRESS. . . . seeing as how you want to keep it all il­ lusion up here.

66 THE ACTOR. Just shut die hell up and start I THE ACTRESS. (Sbe looks at him a long moment.) Right. I was a ... in the bathroom when you came back with the pizza. (Sbe walks to Ibe bathroom. Tie waltis to a spot just outside tbe door to tbe room. Both of them stand silently, thinking back lo the moment. Then gradually, they begin. Trom this point alt tbe described action with props and scenery will be pantomimed. Tbe Actress washes her stockings in the bathroom sink. Tbe Actor puts on his coat, then juggles a hot pizza in a carton. He knocks at Ibe door.) THE ACTOR. Hey, open the door. THE ACTRESS. (Shouting.) I can't! I'm in the bathroom, honey! THE ACTOR, (^(uttering lo himself as he fishes for bis key and braces the carton against the door, holding it under his chin.) Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom . . . dopey broad lives in the bathroom! Shower's going every minute. Soap's always all gushy in the soap dish. Mirror's always steamed up. (Tie enters tbe room and kicks the door shut behind him.) Can't see to shave. Can't see anything. (Tie puts the carton on the table.) There I am brushing my teeth with a tube of her hair conditioner. Beautiful! Mouth full of lanolin. IVick/ THE ACTRESS. (Trom tbe bathroom.) What did you say? THE ACTOR. I said yick . . . aghhhh. (Tie spits.) Tul THE ACTRESS. On . . . THE ACTOR. (Lighting a cigarette as he stalks around tbe room, still mumbling to himself.) Stockings all over the place. (Tie brushes some stockings aside that hang from a cord across the room.) Dopey broad. (Tie plucks down a couple of stockings, throws them on tbe floor and kicks them under the bed. Tbe Actress comes out of tbe bathroom.) Think there was an octo­ pus living here. THE ACTRESS. Octopi have arms, not legs. THE ACTOR. (Tiis sick smile, shaking bis bead.) Nobody likes a smart ass. (Tie makes himself comfortable on the bed.) THE ACTRESS. Oh, my, you're in a great mood tonight. THE ACTOR. You're damn right. An hour before my plane and we have to have a pizza. THE ACTRESS. Did you get it? THE ACTOR. (Pointing.) Radiator. You forgot about that. Right over there.

67 THE ACTRESS. I'm starving. You go where 1 told you? ('H'fllk- ing to where he put the pizza.) THE ACTOR. They were closed. I went to a health food place down the street. Everything organic and dietetic. THE ACTRESS. A dietetic pizza? (Sbe lifts tbe carton.) THE ACTOR. Sure. The pepperoni is polyunsaturated. (Tbe Actress brings it to tbe bed. 7ndicaling tbe carton.) Gimmi. THE ACTRESS. That's all right. TU . . . THE ACTOR. (Taking tbe carton from her.) Gimmi! I bought it. I carried it. And I'm gonna open it! THE ACTRESS. (Surrendering it.) All right. All right/ THE ACTOR. Damn right, all right. (Holding tbe carton out, stilt unopened.) Let's see . . . you wanted anchovies, sausage and peppers, right? THE ACTRESS. No. THE ACTOR. Er . . . peppers, mushrooms and sausage? THE ACTRESS. No. THE ACTOR. Mushrooms, peppers and mushrooms! THE ACTRESS. Very comical. Would you please . . . THE ACTOR. Comical. Yes we have comical. We also have trag­ ical, and pastoral . . . THE ACTRESS. (Exasperated.) Look ... I would like to . . . THE ACTOR. (As if not hearing her. He walks around tbe room.) . . . not to mention historical. We can give you pas­ toral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, or if you like tragical-comical-historical . . . THE ACTRESS. (Screaming.) I'm starving! THE ACTOR. (Handing ber tbe carton.) You open it. THE ACTRESS. (Taking it.) Thanks a lot. (Sbe open it.) You rat! You did it on purpose! (Tiolding out Ibe carton so he can see.) It's upside down. How'm I supposed to eat that? You did it for spite! THE ACTOR. (Tie turns tbe pizza over, scoops tbe cheese and tomato from the carton with his bands and spreads them back on tbe dough.) Eat! (A long moment. She stares at the pizza, then at him. He stands, surgeon-like wilh his bands in mid-air. A mo­ ment of silence.) THE ACTRESS. You want a Kleenex? (Sbe hands him a tissue, shrugs, and begins eating. He wipes his bands and joins ber. A

68 moment, then be stjps eating and looks up to find her staling at him.) THE ACTOR. What is this supposed to accomplish? THE ACTRESS. Keep the faith, baby. A litde concentration. You have some business now. The wine, remember? THE ACTOR. Huh? THE ACTRESS. You had brought a bottle of wine. THE ACTOR. Oh, yes, the wine. (Tie gets it. unscrews Ibe cap, and reads the label.) Chateau Gallo, 1966. (He lakes a swig.) Not bad. (Tie bands her the bottle. She drinks.) THE ACTRESS. It's awful! THE ACTOR. Tertible! (A long silence.) THE ACTRESS. You're up again! Is it that you can't remember or you don't want to? You have a line here something about the packing. THE ACTOR. Well, I guess I better pack if I'm going to make the twelve fifteen. THE ACTRESS. Yes, that was it, exactly, (lie takes bis suitcase out from under Ibe bed and begins to pack.) THE ACTOR. Excuse me. THE ACTRESS. Oh, sure. (Sbe inoues aside so be can gel lo the dresser. She watches bim as he conliiiues lo pack.) THE ACTOR. (Throwing clothes into his suitcase.) Yes sir. Yesireee, this has been the experience of a lifetime! Producers? What do they produce except confusion? Lousy part, lousy town ... THE ACTRESS. (Drinking.) But beautiful roommate, right? THE ACTOR. Beautiful! You're beautiful all over. (Tie continues to pack, anxious to get out.) THE ACTRESS. (Tf^'alking around tbe room, watching bim, hand­ ing him an article from time to time.) Ah yes. Master of the gende phrase. Poet of the bleeding heart. (A silence. She begins to sing.) Kyrie . . . e . . . e.e.e.lei .... THE ACTOR. Oh, she sings. Do you also quilt and do birdcalls" THE ACTRESS. No calls of any kind, now. Didn't I tell you? I've given up people. It started last year with Lent, then ... I don't know ... I just went amuck. I'm just too sensitive . . . THE ACTOR. Oh, please! Don't start. If you can't take it, get out of the action.

69 THE ACTRESS. (Tiolding her fmgcr lo her head as if it were a pistol.) You mean like "bang!" THE ACTOR. With your tenacity, it might take two. THE ACTRESS. You stink! THE ACTOR. Right. You're right. Anything you say. Just want you to be happy . . . THE ACTRESS. You could go in the morning. There are flights every hour. It would help me if it was dayli^lt. THE ACTOR. Listen . . . a . . . have you seen my ascot; the one with the yellow dots . . . (Tie goes into bathroom.) THE ACTRESS. Did you hear me? THE ACTOR. Loud and clear. As always. Let me see ... I came in last night ... 1 took it off and put it . . . (Tie points his finger around tbe room, trying lo trace his movements.) THE ACTRESS. You're a perfect bastard. You know that? THE ACTOR. Bastard. Right. O.K. THE ACTRESS. You're on the bed. THE ACTOR. (Stamping on it.) Am 1? 1 went to the mirror and . . . THE ACTRESS. And now we close too, huh? THE ACTOR. We close . . . THE ACTRESS. For good . . . THE ACTOR. For good. For good, (hi fronl of the mirror.) No. I came here after I took it off . . . (Tie lifts tbe telephone direc­ tory.) Under the telephone directory. Wouldn't you know . . . ? THE ACTRESS. (Screaming.) I'm talking to you! THE ACTOR. Listen, you! I've had it with the screaming and the sarcasms and the recriminations! I've bad it/ We just can't make it and you know it! THE ACTRESS. 1 know. Right. (A silence.) THE ACTOR. Come on you're boozing it up. THE ACTRESS. (Drinking.) Right. (Tier southern Blanche.") "I have always relied on the kindness of strangers." (Tier English "Ophelia.") "My lord, I have remembrances of you that 1 had long . . ." (Sbe drops Ibe accent.) Oh, I kniw you as so many other people . . . (She drinks, then looks ouf tbe window, down into the sliect.) . . . people . . . people. People . . . walking, talking . . . (Sbe opens the ii'indoin and yells down.) Hey! Hey, you guys! You should see how beautiful you look! Hey!

70 THE ACTOR. Knuck it off, will you? L.ist time you did that, they called the cops. (Tic pushes ber away from tbe window.) THE ACTRESS. (Sbuiiling lo Ibe people in Ibe streets beloiu.) You really do! (Sbe tin us lo bim.) THE ACTOR. I'm cold. (He shuts ihc window.) THE ACTRESS. (Sbe giaUs him.) Cold? Cold dead, is what you nr^-! THE ACTOR. Now get this, Miss Dingaling. You can blow your mind with booze, work yourself up into anything you want, do b.ick flips, half gainers, and jack knives! Chrome plated ones! But 1 leave, sec? Right through that door. Left foot, right foot, one in front of the other. Very simple. Sec? Out to some kind of -SiUiily.' What you do with your life from now on is your own affair. You're a big girl now. Take your thumb out of your mouth, and push down your dress, and blow your nose and dry your eyes becaufc . . . THE ACTRESS. No. THE ACTOR. (£oii(lcr.) . . . because I'm tired of doing it for you! I assume no more responsibility for you! Am I getting lhioui|b.' (Scrciiiiiiiig into her face.) I am not rcipoii.sible/ THE ACTRESS. You are! THE ACTOR. It's finished! THE ACTRESS. No! (Sbe runs into ibe bnlbiooiii and locks tbe door, weeping uncontrollably. Her face is turned u., ber bead turning from side to side in protests to the reality of his last word. The Aclor looks at Ibe door for a long moment, then goes back to his packing. Qradually, the sound of crying subsides and the stage is filled with an ominous silence. Tbe Actor goes to the closet, reaches for the door for a long moment, then turns abruptly from it and walks C. Trom the bathroom now an in­ distinguishable mumbling that gets louder until we can finally iiiulerstaMd tbe ti'ords.) Hail Mary, full of grapes . . . Hail Mary, full of grapes. . . . (Screaming now.) Hail Mary! Hail Mary4 Tliat's yonr cue, damnit! Thai's your cue! "Hey, I wanna get my . . ." THE ACTOR. (Picking it up. He knocks on tbe bathroom door.) Hey, I wanna get my shaving stuff. (Tbe Actress stops cbanling, reaches up and lakes something from ibe uiedicine cabinet. Tier moL'cmeiils are masked from us. Another silence. Tbe Aclor knocks.) Look, just dump it all in the kit there, and hand it

71 through the door. 1 won't come in. (Silence.) 1 won't come in. I promise. (Silence. He knocks.) Hey. (Silence.) All right. Skip it. (Tie takes a few steps toward his suitcase, then ber voice slops him. 7t is strange, hysterical.) THE ACTRESS. My, oh my. He uses Gillette blades. How virile. Ummmni, the ones with the miracle teflon coated edge. (A long Silence. Tie crosses once more lo the bathroom door, and listens. The silence conlimies. Tic pounds on the door.) THE ACTOR. What-the-hell you doing in there! THE ACTRESS. (A silence. Then she screams.) What-the-hell you think I'm doing? I'm taking your suggestion! I'm getting out of the action/ THE ACTOR. Well, you'll forgive me if I don't come battering through. Sec,-we've got a little credibility gap problem here . . . and . . . well ... I've really got to be going. I'll say a little prayer, O.K.? O.K.? (Silence. Tie walks across Ibe room, closes bis suitcase and nioi'cs lo exit) So long. (Silence. Ominous. Total. He puts ibc case on the floor and walks lo tbe balbroom door. Tie puis bi.s ear lo it and lislciis.) You could say good-by. Come on. Cut it out. Just say good-by, that's .til. (Tbe silence continues on the other side of the door. He jiggles the knob angrily.) I'd like to see you before I go. Open up, huh? (Silence.) Open up! (Now the possibility of what is happening grips him fully. He puis his shoulder lo the door and pushes it in. As he stumbles into the room, the Actress holds a razor blade. She stares at the wrist of the other hand.) Oh, Christ. . . . (Puttin) bis arm around her and leading her out of tbe balbroom to the bed.) It's all right. There's nothing. Just a scratch. THE ACTRESS. (Softly.) I was afraid . . . THE ACTOR. I know . . . shhhh. THE ACTRESS. Stay till it's light . . . please . . . please . . . I'll be good. (Tie starts to move away from her.) You stayed. THE ACTOR. O.K. O.K. (Tie leads her to Ibe bed, then turns, faces her. and slowly places his head on her chest. A long moment of silence.) She ... she is here. (Tlis band caresses her face.) Her presence on the surface of my skin . . . THE ACTRESS. (Tiolding him tighter.) Now it begins again. (Sbe presses her cheek against his cbest.) THE ACTOR. We fit . . . and the geometry of it is com-

72 plete . . . (Tbey sink doivn on the bed. facing each other, hold­ ing each other.) THE ACTRESS. I grow thin . . . (Their bodies together, then apart, back to back.) THE ACTOR. I'll show her . . . THE ACTRESS. (Pressing lightly against him.) Somewhere . . . in there he hides. THE ACTOR. She will see . . . THE ACTRESS. (Rolling on top of him.) 'Where are his eyes? THE ACTOR. (Caressing her face.) I'm here. I am! . . . (Tie rolls on top of her.) THE ACTRESS. Thin ... I can only breathe as the move­ ment of your body lets me. Where are your eyes . . . ??? (Tier arms tighter around him.) THE ACTOR. ... All gathered now . . . strong and . . . THE ACTRESS. I hold . . . THE ACTOR. She covers me . . . THE ACTRESS. I'm a cradle . . . THE ACTOR. . . . closes me in. THE ACTRESS. ... a cradle. THE ACTOR. Look! THE ACTRESS. . . . CRADLE . . . CRADLE . . . THE ACTOR. TOUCH ME! I'm here. Touch my face. I'm . . . THE ACTRESS. I hold. I'm ... I'm .. . (Silence. Tbe long silence of climax. Qradually, he rolls off ber and they lie side by side, looking al each other. Another silence.) THE ACTOR. And they lived happily neverafter. O.K., is that it? THE ACTRESS. No. I ask you to get my robe. You go to the closet and can't open the door. THE ACTOR. Right. THE ACTRESS. You stay until morning. THE ACTOR. And I leave. (Tie walks lo the door.) THE ACTRESS. (Standing in front of him, blocking ber.) Uh uh. I . . . locked it and took the key. You can't get out. THE ACTOR. That never happened! THE ACTRESS. I'm making it happen right now. Far as we dare, remember? THE ACTOR. Very funny! THE ACTRESS. It's not funny at all. THE ACTOR. I'm ending it right here.

73 THE ACTRESS. You can't! You're still in th. room with mc. You can't get out unless I let you. You have to play it out. THE ACTOR. (fros-Nriu; to phone.) I c.ill the desk. THE ACTRESS. No good. I pulled the cord. THE ACTOR. I go to the wiiidou'l (Huns to Ibe window and opens it.) THE ACTRESS. Six stories. You can't jump! THE ACTOR. (CaUing into the ^tuct below.) I c.ill for help. Hey! THE ACTRESS. Oh no! Out of character. THE ACTOR. (Running to the door.) I'll brc.ik it down. THE ACTRESS. No good fire door. Sieel! THE ACTOR. Give me the key! THE ACTRESS. 1 cnn't remember where I put it. Open ibat door. (Sbe poinis to the clo.scl.) THE ACTOR. (Qiabbing her by the shoulders and sbakiiig ber.) Give me the key! THE ACTRESS. What are you getting all worked up about? This is all fictional, isn't it? Get me my robe. (She points to Ibe closet.) THE ACTOR. No! THE ACTRESS. A simple exploration of experience . . . THE ACTOR. Let me out. 71-lE ACTRESS. This is it, baby. Yuu don't get out. Ever! We do this exercise over and over and over. That's all there is. Right? No asylum or sanctuary here. THE ACTOR. Let me out! THE ACTRESS. No! Not until I finally see y«iu. Monster time huh? Lock, lock, lock. O.K. Again now . . . and again. Hotel Touraine. Boston . . . THE ACTOR. Stop it! For God's sake, stop it! THE ACTRESS. Tears? (Tie touches bis tears.) How do you do that? Hold your eyes to the light. Oil of Wintergrecn? Don't blink? You can't cry! You can't feel sorrow! You can't feel anything! THE ACTOR. I can! THE ACTRESS. No, baby. No, frightened little boy. No, man. No, Timothy P. Sheehy or whoever you are. You fail to convince any more. 1 mean, this is all right for the civilian out there. (Sbe

74 indicates the house.) but we "professionals," we know, don't we? We knou'/ THE ACTOR. Give mc th.Tt key? I'm warning you . . . THE ACTRESS. Go to hell! THE ACTOR. (Slaps her across tbe face.) Is that real? THE ACTRESS. (Laughing as she staggers backiuaid from the blow.) Right on cue, honey. Beautiful! THE ACTOR. Bitch! THE ACTRESS. Good projection. Try it more from the chest, though. Get a little pathos going. THE ACTOR. That's it! The exercise is over! THE ACTRESS. Oh no, baby. It's never over for you. THE ACTOR, (grabbing ber.) I said it's over! THE ACTRESS. Don't lose control now. Don't get hysterical. THE ACTOR. (Shaking her.) Stop it! Let me out! I'll kill you! THE ACTRESS. Kill me? That's it! Oh, if you only could. If you could do this one, real, irrevocable thing and prove that you live . . . that I live too. If you only could. (Sbe lakes a large halpin from her hat on the floor and holds it out lo him.) Here! No rubber daggers. Convince me! Take it! Go on, take it, you strong, controlled, smiling bastard. Beyond these lights, off this stage, you don't exist at all! (Tie fakes tbe hatpin from her.) THE ACTOR. Don't talk. Don't say another word. I mean it. I will kill you here and now if you don't let me out. THE ACTRESS. Inflection, honey. Try the stress on the word mean. THE ACTOR. (Pressing the pin to her heart.) I mean it! THE ACTRESS. You can't mean anything . . . ever . . . ever. THE ACTOR. Shut up! (Tie pulls her lo him, lighter.) THE ACTRESS. You're really very good. 1 wish you could see yourself. The voice is wonderful and you've got a great thin**, going in your eyes. Wanna play it a little further downstage? THE ACTOR. (Pressing the hatpin further.) Do you feci thic? Do you? THE ACTRESS. How can I? It's all performance. THE ACTOR. You've got to believe me! 1 mean it! THE ACTRESS. (Screaming.) There is no you! THE ACTOR. Yes! THE ACTRESS. No! There is no . . . THE ACTOR. Yes! (Tlis aim flexes. He pushes the hatpin into

75 her heart. She winces in pain. A surprised expression comes over her face. She laughs, a guick short laugh.) THE ACTRESS. Jesus . . . you did it! I mean you really did it! (Sbe laughs weakly.) Oh ... oh thank Cod. (Sbe holds onto him tightly as he eases her lo tbe floor.) THE ACTOR. I told you . . . THE ACTRESS. It . . . it . . . doesn't even hurt. I just feel kind of odd. THE ACTOR. (Crying now.) I told you! I told you! THE ACTRESS. (Still in his arms, slipping lo the floor.) How about that? (She lakes his hand, then in the brogue.) Give us a good old juicy smooch, Tim. (She kisses him.) Well, here it is, baby ... the ludicrous conclusion. And it's such a drag this is how we have to prove it all. You're out now. And this is the truth. How about that? And it's such a . . . (She dies.) THE ACTOR. I told you. (Tie lays her down gently, then kneels over her.) See? You were wrong. You can't tell. 1 told you from the beginning. 1 told you. (Tlis bands to bis face as he begins sing­ ing softly.) Kyrie.e.e-e.e.lei, e.e.e.elei, eson. (A long silence as he continues to stare at her.) Is that it? Is that the only way left? (He looks lip into tbe bouse and shouts.) 7s it! (A long moment passes. We bear the sounds of doors opening and closing back- slage.) THE DIRECTOR. (Offstage, shouting.) Hey, anybody here? (There is a moment as the Aclor rises.) Sam, check the dressing rooms. (>lnotber long moment. Qradually Tbe Actress puts up her hand. Tbe Actor lakes it and she gets up and moves lo his left.) THE PLAYWRIGHT. (Offstage.) Hey . . . anybody . . . THE ACTOR. Yes! We're here! We're here! THE PLAYWRIGHT. (Onstage.) Great. Are you ready? THE ACTRESS. (Quietly.) We're ready. (Sbe and the Aclor join hands, then) THE PLAYWRKoH 1. (Offstage, shouting.) What? THE ACTOR. (Angrily, shouting.) She said we're READY! THE DIRECTOR. (Offstage, slightly sarcastic.) Wonderful . . . terrific. O.K., Sam, let's get some lights onstage. (Blackout.)

THE END

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APPENDIX B

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77 *A/1 L L. I A M p/l O r? R I .^3 AO E N C^Y. ,-c ! i3.!0 MvcMuc .-» vi.e .MCHiCAs • Ntw >of> •< Y ;ooi» • ;3iii sae-sioo i )0C0(

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November 8. 1989

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.•>e:'.vsi;.f...Oi' co rciprim. Lcwiis ..i-rir. Cc'vilno'=: play IHK.^ KKKRCI-SE ..It iA-'it sppfcr.diy to yo5ir .taaat/?r'o t:h&'jii .

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