pp. 6–14 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
The following is the scene as written by the playwright.
Doris: Hello, Pansy—rat fink pansy!
Felix: You lied about your size!
Doris: You spider—you cockroach!
Felix: You’re making a mistake. I’m afraid you have the wrong apartment.
Doris: I just wanted to get a look at you.
Felix: It’s a mistake!
Doris: Oh will you listen to her! Mistake! You didn’t spy on me from your window and call my landlord, huh?
Felix: I don’t know you.
Doris: Well, I should have known! Any queer who peeps at girls through his window like a dirty weasel wouldn’t be man enough to admit it.
Felix: You gained entry here under false pretenses—You have no right—
Doris: Was it fun? Did you wish you could do what the big boys were doing?
Felix: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Doris: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Come on, don’t give me that! He told me. You’re the one that called all right. “Sherman.”
Felix: If you leave immediately—I won’t call the police—
Doris: Call them. You said you would. You told Gould you were gonna call the police . . . you know you told him that, you slimy snail—you bedbug . . . you cockroach.
Felix: I advise you to curb your foul mouth and stop making obscenities out of God’s harmless little creatures.
Doris: Why don’t you curb your foul rotten mind? Try to be a man for once.
Felix: Now listen to me—
Doris: You’re lucky I’m too refined to beat you up—the way I feel—
Felix: Will you listen to me . . . you’re insane!
Doris: You’re lucky I can’t stand physical violence.
Felix: Now look—something has happened to you obviously—
Doris: (Starting to get weepy.) What has happened is that I have been thrown out of my room. At two o’clock in the morning.
Felix: He did that? That was unnecessary.
Doris: Then you admit it. You called Gould, right?
Felix: I don’t have to admit anything.
Doris: (Going to window.) I don’t know how you even saw anything this far away. You must have eyes like a vulture. Why did you pick on me? (The flood of anger is running out, leaving her weak.) How dare you do something like this? I get sick when I think there are people like you! I took money from a couple of gentlemen—did that hurt you?
Felix: (Condescending.) You must expect a certain number of people to respect the laws. That’s what holds society together.
Doris: Three cheers for you! And I’m not society, huh? I don’t have to get held together?
Felix: My dear woman, you were breaking the law. If you find yourself in trouble it is only—
Doris: (She notices a pair of field glasses. She picks them up.) So this is how you saw! Oh now it’s bad enough with the naked eye—but with spyglasses—now that is just plain dirty, Mister. I’m sorry! When you work at it this hard—filthy, Mister! Filthy, filthy!
Felix: (Defensive.) I’m a writer. A writer is an observer. I have a right to those.
Doris: You want me to tell you what you’re full of?
Felix: I wouldn’t expect you to understand.
Doris: You are nothing but a dirty, filthy Peeping Tom!
Felix: Why don’t you ever pull down your window shade?
Doris: I never pull down my window shade. I hate window shades.
Felix: That’s your privilege, by all means.
Doris: I keep forgetting the world is full of finks. That’s my trouble. I ought to get it tattooed on the back of my hand—“Watch out for Finks.” (Annoyed, FELIX suddenly sits at the typewriter and types rapidly on a white card which he then pins to the bulletin board.) What are you doing? (Reading it.) “A rule worth making is worth keeping.” What is that?
Felix: That’s to remind me never to open my door after midnight.
Doris: Why don’t you make one to remind you to stop being a fink?
Felix: I wish you would stop using that ugly word.
Doris: You don’t like it? Too bad! Fink. Pansy fink, Queer fink, Peeping Tom fink, fink fink, you fink!
Felix: Feel better? (He goes to the door and opens it.) If you’re sure your poison sacs are empty you can go.
Doris: Just tell me where I’m suposed to go?
Felix: Don’t you have a friend you could stay with?
Doris: Not that I can move in on at two A.M.
Felix: How about a hotel?
Doris: I got seventy-two cents. The son-of-a-bitch took all of my money.
Felix: Who did?
Doris: Barney Gould, the landlord.
Felix: How could he do that?
Doris: While he was helping you hold society together with one hand—he was robbing me with the other. He said you saw me take money from a couple of—and you were gonna call the cops and if I gave him the money he’d cover up with the cops—that’s how could I!
Felix: He was lying to you. All I did was ask him if he knew what was going on in his building.
Doris: Gee, that was big of you!
Felix: Well, I felt he should know. For his own protection.
Doris: Oh, sweet! You’re just a big mother, aren’t you? Now will you lend me five bucks so I can get a room? I’ll pay you back.
Felix: I don’t have any money. I got paid today and haven’t cashed my check.
Doris: I never knew a fink that did have any money.
Felix: Don’t you know anybody you could call? (DORIS has fallen onto a chair. She’s defeated and near tears.) Don’t you have any family? (Looking at the couch.) You can’t stay here!
Doris: I’d rather sleep in the gutter.
Felix: It’s a matter of taste, I suppose. (On her last line, DORIS has gone to the door. She brings in a large suitcase and a portable TV set.) What are you doing?
Doris: Get me a sheet and a blanket for that couch.
Felix: You’re not staying here. Oh, no—no!
Doris: Naturally I’m staying. Where have I got to go?
Felix: I thought you were looking forward to a night in the gutter.
Doris: Just get a blanket, will you please . . . and stop being so goddam bitchy! Come on, come on.
Felix: Very well, you may stay the night.
Doris: Thanks for nothing. (FELIX starts to answer. Changes his mind. Goes to the bedroom. DORIS takes off her coat, tosses it carelessly onto the coffee table, sets the suitcase on the sofa and she opens it; takes a nightgown out of the suitcase and closes it. FELIX comes from the bedroom with one folded sheet, a blanket, and dumps the sheet and blanket on the sofa. He glares at her. DORIS plugs in the television set.) What kind of reception do you get?
Felix: I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a television set.
Doris: Oh, that’s right—you got your spyglasses! By the way, how was I on the late, late show?
(FELIX goes to the coffee pot and pours coffee into a plastic cup.)
Felix: You’re not planning to watch television at this hour?
Doris: (Tucking sheet under sofa cushion.) It’s the only way I can get to sleep—I won’t play it loud—Listen—I don’t want to be here—if you had kept your mouth shut—
Felix: And if you had kept your window shade down—
Doris: You got a sweetheart in there? Some bouncy young boy or do you dig the rough trade—
Felix: You’re an alley cat, aren’t you? On your back and rip out their guts with your hind claws.
Doris: And what do you do, lover? Pull their hair and scratch out their eyes? Give me some of that coffee . . . please. (FELIX starts to pour cup for her.) No. A whole cup’ll keep me awake. Just give me a sip of yours. Do you ever write for television?
Felix: No, thank you.
(FELIX crosses to her and she takes his cup; takes two sips, watching him.)
Doris: What kind of a writer are you? Did I ever hear of you?
Felix: No.
Doris: Did anybody?
Felix: Voices like mine are drowned out by the clatter of the cash register. That’s two sips—
(DORIS gives him back the cup. FELIX starts to drink, switches the cup and drinks from the other side.)
Doris: Now, what was that you just did?
Felix: What?
Doris: Drinking out of the other side like that—
Felix: Oh—I always do that—it’s a reflex—
Doris: Yeah—sure it is.
Felix: Really—I’m a hypochondriac.
Doris: You make me feel like I’m a cockroach and I just crawled into your clean little house and you’re trying to get up the nerve to squash me—that’s the way you make me feel.
Felix: Oh my God, you’re crazy!
Doris: Listen, Mister—I don’t want to see that in your eyes when you look at me—I am a model. I have been in many television commercials at a time when I weighed 105, which unfortunately I don’t any more. So don’t you dare turn that cup around, you hear? You don’t catch anything from a model—do you hear me—I may turn a trick or two but I am a model! (DORIS’S voice has risen hysterically. At this point there’s a KNOCK at the wall.)
Felix: Listen—you can’t stay here. Why don’t you try the YWCA?—
Doris: With seventy-two cents? That Christian the YWCA is not—
Felix: Will you try to be quiet—there’s an old man downstairs.
Doris: And you don’t want him to think you switched to girls, right?
Felix: Now look—
Doris: (Interrupting as she exits to bathroom.) Don’t worry about it—just leave me alone. I’ll try to get out of here before you wake up. (He starts to bedroom. From offstage.) Do me a favor—if you wake up and I’m still here, yell before you come out so I can close my eyes. I don’t wanna have to look at you first thing in the morning. Where’s the John? Excuse me—the jane?—the bathroom!
Felix: It’s in there. Good night.
Doris: (Off.) Good night, fink.
(FELIX exits to the bedroom. We hear the SOUNDTRACK of the movie clearly now.)
Old Woman’s Voice. Then you knew—all the time.
Old Man’s Voice. Yes—I knew he was guilty.
Old Woman’s Voice. Then why, Ben?
Old Man’s Voice. Why did I let them convict me for his crime?
Old Woman’s Voice. Thirty years—thirty long years—why, Ben? Why?
(DORIS enters from the bathroom wearing her nightgown; she watches the movie for a couple of lines of dialogue.)
Old Woman’s Voice. You had so much to live for—the governorship. There were those who thought you had a chance for the White House.
Old Man’s Voice. Yes—there were those who said that—
Old Woman’s Voice. And you threw it all away, Ben, to save him. Why? He was a thief and a drunkard.
Old Man’s Voice. Why? Because a girl with cornflower blue eyes and yellow hair loved him.
Old Woman’s Voice. Oh Ben, my eyes are still cornflower blue, but my hair is all white now.
Old Man’s Voice. Not to me—Alice—to me it’ll always be yellow.
Old Woman’s Voice. Ben—you mean—oh no!
Old Man’s Voice. Then they didn’t tell you? Yes, Alice—I’m blind, an accident in the prison library.
Old Woman’s Voice. No, you’re not blind, Ben, for as long as I live, you have two cornflower blue eyes—
Old Man’s Voice. Alice—
Old Woman’s Voice. Oh Ben—
(And the MUSIC comes up for a big finish. DORIS crosses to the set.)
Announcer: And that concludes the late, late show. Well—
(The voice is killed as DORIS turns off the SET. She turns on the radio; it doesn’t work; she shakes it; desperately.)
Doris: (Shouts.) God damn it! Hey fink, fink!
(FELIX enters)
Felix: Now what?
Doris: My radio won’t work. I must have banged it coming up the stairs!
Felix: Do you really have to—?
Doris: It’s the only way I can go to sleep. You got a radio?
Felix: No.
Doris: What’ll I do now? Why did I have to come up here?
Felix: Why not correct your mistake? Leave!
Doris: I should have just given a certain friend of mine a dollar to beat you up.
Felix: A dollar? Can’t be much of a beating.
Doris: He’s a friend. He would do it for nothing, but I make him take a dollar.
Felix: I see.
Doris: (Calls.) What’s so goddam funny? I’ll send him around tomorrow. I guarantee you won’t think it’s so funny. Now I’ll never get to sleep.
Felix: Why can’t you sleep?
Doris: I’m very high-strung.
Felix: I don’t have any sleeping pills or I’d—
Doris: I don’t take sleeping pills. I never take them. They’re enervating.
Felix: How about a hot bath? That’ll relax you.
Doris: (Talking in a compulsive rush.) I never take baths. They’re enervating too. You know that word—“enervating”? Most people think it means just the opposite of what it really means. (FELIX walks back toward the bedroom in the middle of her speech, yawning, yearning for sleep. DORIS raises her voice to a shout. FELIX stops.) Another word that kills me is naive—I always thought it was “nave” you know. How do you pronounce it?
Felix: I never use it.
Doris: I mean I heard the word na’ive, but—
(The KNOCK is heard again.)
Felix: What’s the matter with you? What are you trying to do? I got up at five-thirty this morning.
Doris: Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but will you sit here for a little while and talk to me?
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
DORIS: (to FELIX), Age 20s to 30s
pp. 6–14 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Hello, Pansy-rat fink pansy! You spider-you cockroach! I just wanted to get a look at you. You didn’t spy on me from your window and call my landlord, huh? Well, I should have known! Any queer who peeps at girls through his window like a dirty weasel wouldn’t be man enough to admit it. Was it fun? Did you wish you could do what the big boys.were doing? Why don’t you curb your foul rotten mind? Try to be a man for once. You’re lucky I’m too refined to beat you up—the way I feel. You’re lucky I can’t stand physical violence. (Starting to get weepy.) I have been thrown out of my room. At two o’clock in the morning. You called Gould, right? I don’t know how you even saw anything this far away. You must have eyes like a vulture. Why did you pick on me? How dare you do something like this. I get sick when I think there are people like you! I took money from a couple of gentlemen—did that hurt you? It’s bad enough with the naked eye—but with spyglasses—now that is just plain dirty, Mister. Just tell me where I’m supposed to go? I don’t have anyone that I can move in on at two A.M. I got seventy-two cents. The son-of-a-bitch took all of my money. While he was helping you hold society together with one hand, he was robbing me with the other. He said you saw me take money from a couple of—and you were gonna call the cops and if I gave him the money he’d cover up with the cops . . . Get me a sheet and a blanket for that couch. I’m staying. Where have I got to go? By the way, how was I on the late, late show? Listen, Mister—I don’t want to see that in your eyes when you look at me—I am a model. I have been in many television commercials at a time when I weighed 105, which unfortunately I don’t any more. You don’t catch anything from a model—do you hear me—I may turn a trick or two but I AM A MODEL! Just leave me alone. I’ll try to get out of here before you wake up. Do me a favor—if you wake up and I’m still here, yell before you come out so I can close my eyes. I don’t wanna have to look at you first thing in the morning. Where’s the John? Excuse me—the Jane? The bathroom! Why did I have to come here? I should have just given a certain friend of mine a dollar to beat you up. He would do it for nothing, but I’d make him take a dollar. What’s so goddam funny? I’ll send him around tomorrow. I guarantee you won’t think it’s so funny. Now I’ll never get to sleep. I’m very high-strung. I don’t take sleeping pills. They’re enervating. I never take baths. They’re enervating too. You know that word—“enervating”? Most people think it means just the opposite of what it really means. Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but will you sit here for a little while and talk to me?
Don’t be mislead by Doris’s tirade against Felix. You must not play her “angry.” Anger is a result of someone taking from us something we needed. Or something not given to us that we needed or wanted. Or committing an act upon us rendering us hurt, devastated, anguished, and or deprived. Anger, therefore, is loud hurt, loud devastation, loud pain, loud anguish, loud vulnerability.
Whenever it seems apparent on the page that you should be yelling and screaming in anger, go back to what caused the situation and play off the pain, which is the true result of the act committed against you. While you are yelling and screaming, show us how hurt you are.
Doris has been dislodged from her apartment by Felix. She is frightened, alone, broke, humiliated, unrespected, rejected, destitute, homeless, and, most of all, unloved. This indeed is a life and death situation for her. She has come to Felix to face the man who did all this to her, to regain some dignity but most of all to find refuge and to be loved and protected. The words say she is demanding things from him and that she is furious. Which she is. And of course she is yelling and screaming. But only because of her fears and pain. She desperately needs for Felix to feel sorry for what he did to her and to lovingly take care of her and make it up to her. He is the most important person in her life. She is fighting for her life. He is the only one who can save her.
Now, give yourself a background. Use what the playwright has given you regarding your character’s background and history leading up to today’s confrontation. He may not have given you enough, however, so you must create your own history and background for your character from your life. Use whatever you choose from the playwright. Add from your life and create events that are real; then, if need be, add more to Doris’s background that does not come from your own personal life but that seems to be appropriate as part of her background. Let’s find the Doris in you.
If I were to ask you where you were born, what your cultural, economic, ethnic, and spiritual background is, what your relationship was like with your folks, your siblings, your peers, your teachers, your lovers, etc., you could answer all those questions. So you must for Doris. Create your reality from the day you, Doris, were born. Create the highlights of your life up to today. I would also ask you to tell me how and why you started to take money from men for sex. I would want to know about all the events leading up to your life as it is today.
I want to expose your vulnerability. Allow us to see the pain and anguish within you. Allow us to see what is not on the page. What are Felix’s responses to you? You are asking him a lot of questions that seem to be rhetorical, but what are his nonverbal responses? What are his facial expressions telling you? How about his body language?
What you are doing is trying to hurt him to relieve some of your hurt. Are you usually that kind of person? Has anything like this ever happened to you before? Of course not. This is the worst experience of your life.
When he opened the door and you saw him for the very first time, what did you expect to see? An old man or a young one? You probably thought he would be old. Of course he is a young man. Is he very good-looking? Yes. Make him good-looking. Make him have physical appeal. That gives you more to work off. It presents more conflict. Ordinarily this man would turn you on. As a matter of fact, he does! That makes it even more interesting. Don’t forget, you’ve got to have an emotional reach-out, and the more he’s got to offer, the more you will want to reach out for it.
The bottom line is, you are fighting for your life and he is the only one who can save you.
pp. 36–43 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Doris: I know, but you can’t insult me—It’s impossible, you know why?
Felix: Why are you doing this—why don’t you get out? What’s it going to get you?
Doris: It’s all your fault.
Felix: All right—but—
Doris: Oh, I don’t mean getting me thrown out of my room. I mean it’s your fault I’m in love.
Felix: You’re insane.
Doris: It’s true—you made me love you. (Sings.)
I didn’t want to do it—
I didn’t want to do it—
Felix: What do I have to do to get rid of you? I’ll give you ten dollars.
Doris: Make it fifty million—that’s how much it’ll cost you to get rid of me—not a penny less. Hey—I thought you were going to move out and leave the vermin in possession—what happened?
Felix: No. I will not let you put me out of my home.
Doris: Good for you! I would have lost all respect for you if you left.
Felix: How long are you planning to stay?
Doris: How should I know? I’m stuck here. (Sings.) I’m just a prisoner of love. Notice I’m singing all the time—I always do that when I’m in love.
Felix: You’re an imbecile.
Doris: Okay. Fine! See—you can’t insult a person who’s in love. You can’t do anything to them, because they’re so light—you can throw them off the roof and they’ll float to the ground.
Felix: Will you stop talking about love? I’ve never heard such mindless drivel in my life.
Doris: Listen, I know a lot about love.
Felix: That thing you fall in and out of three or four times a week is not love. Neither is that thing you sell.
Doris: Now don’t be nasty, honey. This is different. I love you in a very deep quiet way—like a river.
Felix: Like a river! (Shouting.) You mean like a sewer!
Doris: Now don’t get worked up, darling. You tell me what love is. Go ahead, sweetheart—I’m listening. Is it when you get mad and yell at somebody like you’re yelling at me?
Felix: (Shouting.) No it is not!
Doris: You better calm down . . .
Felix: (Fighting for self-control.) You upset me. I admit it. You’re an animal. You’re so foreign to anything that’s important to me. Don’t you understand? You personify what I hate.
Doris: You didn’t hate it last night.
Felix: That’s what disgusts me. All my life I fought that animal taint. It’s like finding a fungus you loathe growing on your own skin!
Doris: (Shaken badly.) Oh, that’s a disgusting thing to call somebody—“fungus”!
Felix: I didn’t call you that.
Doris: Sure—I’m some slimy moldy fungus, right?
Felix: I didn’t say that.
Doris: Oh yes, you did say that!
Felix: All right, I said it! I mean it! Now will you get out—will you go?
Doris: I never met anybody in my life that made me feel so cheap and dirty.
Felix: Then get out of here.
Doris: I don’t understand why I love you.
Felix: Get out! I hate you!
Doris: Not as much as I hate you!
Felix: Then get out! Get out!
Doris: No! I’m gonna stay here and hate you right to your face!
Felix: All right, then I’m going.
Doris: Fine. Great. Go on.
Felix: It’s the only way.
Doris: Well, go on—get out.
Felix: What do you mean, “Get out”? This is my home. I live here. Don’t you tell me to get out.
Doris: Well, I’m not getting out. You can try to throw me out if you want to.
Felix: I wouldn’t dirty my hands.
Doris: I wouldn’t want your slimy hands on me.
Felix: I ought to turn you over to the police.
Doris: Fine. Why don’t you?
Felix: That’s what I should do.
Doris: Go ahead. Call them.
Felix: That’s what I’ll do. That’s just what I’ll do!
Doris: Go ahead.
Felix: That’s just exactly what I’m going to do!
Doris: All right. Fine. You do that.
Felix: You bet I will. You can just bet on it!
Doris: You call the police. You do that. It’s fine with me.
Felix: Don’t you for a moment think I won’t!
Doris: Oh, you’d do it!
Felix: You bet I would. And that’s just what I’m going to do.
Doris: Fine. You turn me in. You do that. You’re the man to do it.
Felix: I most certainly am, and that’s what I’m going to do!
(BLACKOUT)
SCENE 3
Felix: (On telephone. The stage is in darkness.) Nothing serious, Victor. No—I’m a little tired. I had a very bad time last night. No—I hate to take them, they’re enervating. Thank you, but I’ll be fine by twelve or so. I’ll come in then.
(Lights come up slowly. Morning light through the window. DORIS stands near FELIX peering at him through the binoculars.)
Doris: Ooh, look at the big man. (He ignores her.) Don’t you love me? Oh, that’s right—only in the bedroom. I forgot—it depends on what room we’re in. Let’s take a shower together. I want to find out how you feel about me in the bathroom.
Felix: Doris—I’m not coming back to this apartment tonight. I mean it.
Doris: Honey—what are you fighting? Why don’t you take it easy? (She tries to embrace him. He pushes her off, knocking the orange out of her hand. DORIS laughs, picks up the orange.) You better bring some more oranges. We’re running out.
Felix: I won’t be coming back. Did you hear me?
Doris: (Humoring a child.) Sure. You’ll be back after work to pack your things, though? (Silence from FELIX.) Would you like me to pack for you and have it ready?
Felix: Shut up.
Doris: I could put it all outside the door so you wouldn’t even have to come inside.
Felix: Your humor is like you are—crude and clumsy.
Doris: (Going to him—tenderly.) Baby—why don’t you stop—?
Felix: If you call me “baby” once more, I’ll—(Looks around desperately.) I’ll smash your television set.
Doris: (Goes to him, feels his head.) I think you’ve got a fever.
Felix: (Looking to heaven.) Oh God! Are you listening—are you laughing? She says I’ve got a fever.
Doris: You’re not going to work today—you’re getting right back into bed.
Felix: (To heaven.) Do you hear? The tower of my mind is crashing down—wrecked by a termite—and now the termite is putting me to bed! God—do something!
(She’s pushing and pulling him to the sofa.)
Doris: Don’t talk to God that way. He’ll strike you dead.
Felix: Oh no! Not while He’s having so much fun with me!
(She pushes him down on the sofa—feels his head again.)
Doris: Does it hurt any place?
Felix: Listen—I’m going to beg you—please—go away—please leave me alone.
Doris: (Feeling his throat.) Does this hurt?
Felix: You’re grinding your heel in my raw soul. That is what hurts.
Doris: Wow! That’s good! You ought to use that in a story.
Felix: (Weakly.) You must go away. Why won’t you go away? Tell me why!
Doris: Because, sweetheart—I can make you happy—I do make you happy—if you’ll only let me—
Felix: No—no—you make me miserable.
Doris: But, baby. . .
Felix: “Baby” you make happy, yes—but “Felix” you make miserable, and that’s me—Felix—I am Felix. Will you listen to me? I am not “Baby.” I don’t want to be “Baby.”
Doris: I wish you’d go to bed. Do you have a thermometer?
Felix: It’s a nightmare—I’m caught in a fog—I’m screaming! But I can’t make a sound!
Doris: Lie down on the sofa.
Felix: (Limp, he flops down on the sofa.) What’s the use?
Doris: That’s my boy.
Felix: Yes. That’s your boy. I confess. Felix unmasked. Felix captured and brought to justice—“Baby—honey—sweetheart” alias “Felix.”
Doris: Now just relax. (She feels his forehead again.) Does it hurt any place?
Felix: No. All the nerves have died.
Doris: Now be serious. Is your throat sore? Do you have a headache? Should I call the doctor?
Felix: That’s ridiculous! The disease never calls the doctor.
Doris: Now don’t say nasty things! Be nice.
Felix: (Rising hysteria.) Nice? You’re absolutely right! Now that I have come to live in Niceville I must do as the nice people do—I must be nice. “Baby sweetheart” must be nice.
Doris: (Beginning to be afraid.) You’re absolutely crazy. I never heard such crazy talk in my life.
Felix: You’re right again. Baby must not speak the language of Felix. Felix the mind is dead. Long live Baby!
Doris: Please stop it.
Felix: Call me “Baby”—say “please stop it, Baby”—go on.
Doris: I don’t want to.
Felix: Why not? That’s who I am—I’m Baby.
Doris: Please, honey, you’re scaring me.
Felix: Yes—yes—sorry—that’s because I’m not talking Baby’s language. How’s this? (Tough.) What do you say we feed the face, Sweetie, and then we can hop into the sack and knock off a quickie. Let’s ball. Let’s get down in the slime and roll around in it. Let’s have a little poon-tang. Let’s hump. (As DORIS withdraws from him.) That’s it, hump, hump, hump.
Doris: (Completely depressed by now.) All right—all right, you win.
Felix: I win? What do I win?
Doris: I’m going. (She exits to bedroom; then, from Offstage.) I’ll come back later to get my things. When you’re not here.
Felix: (Calls.) Are you really going, Baby?
Doris: That’s what you want, isn’t it?
Felix: It’s not my first choice. My first choice is for you never to have come. Could I have that?
Doris: You sure fooled me. I thought I had you figured.
Felix: You did—I’m the one I had fooled.
Doris: (She opens the door.) I’ll call you tonight when I get set and let you know where I am.
Felix: Don’t call.
Doris: Don’t be such a baby. You can always hang up on me if you don’t want to talk to me.
Felix: I won’t be here.
Doris: You better take care of yourself or you’re gonna be sick. You hear me?
Felix: (Wryly.) I’ll take an aspirin.
Doris: Good idea—no—there’s some fizz powder on the dresser. It gets into the bloodstream seconds faster than aspirin.
Felix: I grew up with aspirin. I refuse to believe there’s a short-cut aspirin doesn’t know about.
Doris: Just the same—take that powder. And I’ll call you tonight.
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
DORIS (to FELIX), age 20s to 30s.
pp. 36–43 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
You can’t insult me—it’s impossible, you know why? It’s all your fault. Oh, I don’t mean getting me thrown out of my room. I mean it’s your fault I’m in love. It’s true—you made me love you. (Sings.) I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do it. Fifty million—that’s how much it’ll cost you to get rid of me—not a penny less. Hey—I thought you were going to move out and leave me, the “vermin,” in possession—what happened? I would have lost all respect for you if you left. I don’t know how long I’m planning to stay. I’m stuck here. (Sings.) I’m just a prisoner of love. Notice I’m singing all the time—I always do that when I’m in love. You can’t insult a person who’s in love. You can’t do anything to them because they’re so light—you can throw them off the roof and they’ll float to the ground. I know a lot about love. This is different. I love you in a very deep quiet way—like a river. Ooh, look at the big man. Don’t you love me? Oh, that’s right—only in the bedroom. I forgot—it depends on what room we’re in. Let’s take a shower together. I want to find out how you feel about me in the bathroom. Honey—what are you fighting? Why don’t you take it easy? You’re going? (First panic, then humoring a child.) Sure. You’ll be back after work to pack your things, though? Would you like me to pack for you and have it ready? I could put it all outside the door so you wouldn’t even have to come inside. I think you’ve got a fever. You’re not going to work today—you’re getting right back into bed. Does it hurt any place? I’m not going away because, sweetheart—I can make you happy—I do make you happy—if you’ll only let me. I wish you’d go to bed. Do you have a thermometer? Lie down on the sofa. Does it hurt any place? Is your throat sore? Do you have a headache? Should I call the doctor? Please, honey, you’re scaring me. All right—all right, you win. I’m going. I’ll come back later to get my things. When you’re not here. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You sure fooled me. I thought I had you figured. I’ll call you tonight when I get set and let you know where I am. You can always hang up on me if you don’t want to talk to me. You better take care of yourself or you’re gonna be sick. You hear me? There’s some fizz powder on the dresser. It gets into the bloodstream faster than aspirin. Take it. And I’ll call you tonight.
It is the following afternoon. Felix succumbed to your charms the evening before and you both wound up in bed. When you awoke after a night of ecstatic lovemaking you are in love but he wants you to leave! He seems to be repulsed by you for some reason. Of course, you want to stay. He leaves for work hoping you will be gone by the time he returns. But there you are, eagerly awaiting his return.
Felix says some nasty things to you. On the page when it appears from your responses to him that you really haven’t been insulted and hurt by his harsh words, don’t you believe for a moment that his words don’t sting. Hear the insult. Feel the hurt and respond with the playwright’s words. Remember the playwright has you lie. So when Felix calls you “vermin,” and you respond with, “You can’t insult me—it’s impossible, you know why?” you are pretending not to be hurt. And you are doing a good job of it. He doesn’t know you are hurt. But we, the audience, must recognize that you are. The other character will respond to your dialogue. Allow the audience to respond to your emotions and feelings. You are putting on a very good act for him. You don’t want to be hurt but you are. The opposite and your inner life where the truth lies is saying, “You really know how to hurt me, don’t you?”
Your inner feelings do not negate what is on the page. You simply don’t want him to talk to you that way. It isn’t loving of him. You don’t want to give in to the hurt. You are clinging to your strong loving feelings for him and it feels wonderful. You don’t want this feeling to pass. You don’t want him to take it all away. You are fighting for him to feel strong loving feelings for you. He is rejecting you all the way. He won’t allow you to minister to his ills. You finally give in. “All right, all right, you win. I’m going.” It hurts. Keep fighting for his love but don’t deny the harsh reality. He doesn’t want you there. He doesn’t want you near him in any way. Be aware of the negatives but work off your positives. You still want him even if it appears as if he doesn’t want any part of you. And you’re not giving up just yet. Perhaps you’ve lost this round. You intend for there to be a next round because this is the most important day in your life. Felix is the most important person in your life and today is the day that you have got to change your life. It is the rest of your life that you are fighting for.
pp. 45–50 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Felix: (In bathroom.) Is it still raining?
Doris: (Still at door.) No, it stopped.
Felix: (Off.) Paper said it would rain all night.
Doris: Yeah.
Felix: (Off.) I guess the rain doesn’t read the paper. There’s some scotch on the table.
Doris: Where’d you get this?
Felix: (Off.) Bought it.
Doris: How come?
Felix: (Off.) Not enough nerve to steal it, I suppose. Take your coat off. (He enters from bedroom. His hair slicked for the occasion.) I like your dress.
Doris: The color’s good, but it flattens me out a little in the bust. You don’t look so good.
Felix: I had a hard day. Listen—I wanted to talk to you, Doris. It’s a little embarrassing—I wanted to apologize for my emotional behavior yesterday morning.
Doris: Forget it. It was my fault—I guess I needled you.
Felix: No. The lance is not the cause of the infection it exposes. The fact that—
Doris: (Stopping him.) Wait a minute—(Thinks for a second—then triumphantly.) You know, I understand that!
Felix: Of course—naturally. Doris, you’re a bright girl. Remember I told you that soon after we met?
Doris: Yes, you did. You said I wasn’t dumb.
Felix: And that’s exactly what I want to talk to you about. After you left I used some good solid logic. It saved my life.
Doris: That sounds good.
Felix: Well, the fact is, I have lived almost thirty years as a logical man. My religion was the reason. The mind. It’s the only thing I believe in. And it has given me a lonely life.
Doris: I thought you were older than thirty.
Felix: I’ll be thirty in October. Fact number two—I felt a very powerful attraction to a girl—you—very powerful, all right—put the facts through the logic—there’s only one answer—I had to be attracted by one thing in you.
Doris: Well, listen—
Felix: Your mind!
Doris: You’re kidding.
Felix: Doesn’t it sound logical?
Doris: It may be logical, but it doesn’t make sense.
Felix: I realized suddenly that I’m not attracted to you at all as an animal. Don’t you see—I couldn’t be. It’s your trapped intelligence calling out for help that drew me so strongly.
Doris: You’re all excited and happy. Gee, I’m glad. You were in such bad shape yesterday, you had me scared.
Felix: That was insane grief. Premature grief for Felix the mind. I was very rough on you. I feel like dying when I think of the things I said to you. Can you forgive me? Can we be friends—nonphysical friends, of course?
Doris: Nonphysical?
Felix: I’m going to save you, Doris.
Doris: May I ask from what?
Felix: From circumstances that have kept you from using your mind. You’re in a jungle. I’m going to cut through all that rotting growth and rescue you.
Doris: I feel like Sleeping Beauty with that forest around her.
Felix: Yes—yes—that’s wonderful! The sleeping beauty of the mind.
Doris: Wonderful?
Felix: Without training—your unhindered natural imagination reaches for metaphor—oh, Doris—do you know how exciting that is to a man of intellect?
Doris: What’s “metaphor”?
Felix: Metaphor is—no—there—(Points to the dictionary.) Look it up for yourself. Go—discover a word! M-e-t-a-p-h-o-r.
Doris: Not me—I hate dictionaries.
Felix: Why? You like words.
Doris: Yeah, but in the dictionary they’re so, I don’t know—dead.
Felix: Dead—oh, my God, of course! Laid out—dissected—by the cataloguing mind! A mortuary of words—Doris, that’s wonderful!
Doris: You mean I did it again? I can’t tell you how surprised I am.
Felix: I felt it in you—I sensed it, didn’t I?
Doris: Yes, you did—you said something about it.
Felix: I know—I know.
Doris: (Catching the artificial excitement.) It was very smart of you to notice—most people don’t notice—I never noticed! Gosh, think of all the smart things I must of said without realizing!
Felix: Yes—a flower born to blush unseen—wasting your sweetness on the desert air.
Doris: That’s like poetry.
Felix: It is poetry. Famous poetry.
Doris: Hey—I spotted it, didn’t I?
(As DORIS starts to sparkle with excitement, FELIX is aroused.)
Felix: Of course you spotted it. Like a thirsty root spots water—
Doris: Did I ever tell you about the essay I wrote in school?
Felix: I’d love to read it.
Doris: I lost it.
Felix: That’s all right—you’ll write others.
Doris: You think so?
Felix: Why not? Why not?
Doris: I used to think I had a brain. But people keep calling you stupid, you know—year after year.
Felix: Stupid people.
Doris: My goddam brother. From morning to night—“stupid-stupid-stupid.” Well, after a while you figure where there’s smoke there’s fire—you know?
Felix: Of course. A sensitive nature like yours is no match for a bully.
Doris: Sensitive! Boy, you put your finger on it! How did you know I was sensitive?
Felix: You had to be—that’s the price of a thinking mind—sensitivity.
Doris: It is?
Felix: Yes.
Doris: Well, I’m sure sensitive, all right. I cry at the drop of a hat. Well, you saw the way I carried on here yesterday—
Felix: Yes.
Doris: Over nothing at all. Did you ever see sensitive like that?
Felix: I should have known. I should have realized why I was drawn to you.
Doris: I was always ashamed of myself for crying so much. That means you’re smart, huh?
Felix: It means—that’s right—it means you’re smart.
Doris: I always thought I was such a dope—crying over nothing.
Felix: Dopes don’t cry. They have no pride. Dopes are not vulnerable.
Doris: Pride—I got a lot of that.
Felix: Of course you have.
Doris: My brother always said to me that I had too much pride.
Felix: Is that the “goddam” brother?
Doris: No—the older one.
Felix: Well, you can’t have too much pride. Pride constructs dignity and lives in it.
Doris: “Pride constructs dignity and lives in it”? Poetry—right?
Felix: It’s from an essay of mine.
Doris: Oh. Well, it sounds like poetry.
Felix: Thank you.
Doris: I’ll bet you’re a wonderful writer.
Felix: You didn’t care for my short story. Remember?
Doris: When? Oh—the sun spitting in the guy’s face—well, I was mad at you—I was just getting back at you.
Felix: Well, it doesn’t matter.
Doris: It grows on you. I can see it, you know—
Felix: What’s that?
Doris: (Acting out the rising sun.) The sun—like a big face. It looks up real slow over the edge of the world and it goes—pttt. (She makes a soft spitting sound with her lips.)
Felix: That’s very imaginative of you.
Doris: Well, it’s just good writing, that’s all—it makes you see it.
Felix: Thank you.
Doris: Gee, I’m so excited! I’m shivering—look at me.
Felix: Would you like a drink?
Doris: I got one.
Felix: (Putting his arm around her.) Are you cold?
Doris: No—I don’t know what it is—excitement, I guess.
Felix: I know what it is. It’s the first shock of childbirth.
Doris: Bite your tongue!
Felix: (Fondles and nuzzles her.) No—I mean you’re being born. You—
Doris: Yeah—I see what you mean—I’m being born—you know what I’m doing? I’m entering into a new world. (He kisses her on the cheek.) You didn’t hear what I said—
Felix: What?
Doris: I’m entering into a new world.
Felix: I heard you. It’s true, welcome to the world of the intellect. (He kisses her on the neck.)
Doris: I’m beginning to talk like you a little—did you notice—? Hey—what are you doing? I wanna talk.
Felix: (Continuing to make love to her.) I want to hear you talk, don’t stop.
Doris: Felix—cut that out—
Felix: Talk—I’m listening.
Doris: We’re intellectuals—we’re nonphysicals, remember?
Felix: This isn’t physical. That’s what makes it so exciting—don’t you see?
Doris: I don’t think so.
Felix: That’s what draws us together—not the attraction of bodies, but the excitement of two live—healthy—exuberant minds—calling hungrily to one another!
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
FELIX (to DORIS), age 20s to early 40s.
pp. 45–50 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Is it still raining? Paper said it would rain all night. I guess the rain doesn’t read the paper. There’s some scotch on the table. Bought it. Not enough nerve to steal it, I suppose. Take your coat off. I like your dress. I had a hard day. Listen—I wanted to talk to you, Doris. It’s a little embarrassing—I wanted to apologize for my emotional behavior yesterday morning. The lance is not the cause of the infection it exposes. I know you understand that! Doris, you’re a bright girl. Remember I told you that soon after we met? And that’s exactly what I want to talk to you about. After you left I used some good solid logic. It saved my life. My religion was the reason. The mind. It’s the only thing I believe in. And it has given me a lonely life. I’ll be thirty1 in October. Fact number two—I felt a very powerful attraction to a girl—you—very powerful, all right—put the facts through the logic—there’s only one answer—I had to be attracted by one thing in you. Your mind! Doesn’t it sound logical? I realized suddenly that I’m not attracted to you at all as an animal. Don’t you see—I couldn’t be. It’s your trapped intelligence calling out for help that drew me so strongly. I was in such bad shape yesterday. That was insane grief. Premature grief for Felix the mind. I was very rough on you. I feel like dying when I think of the things I said to you. Can you forgive me? Can we be friends—nonphysical friends, of course? I’m going to save you, Doris. From circumstances that have kept you from using your mind. You’re like Sleeping Beauty with that forest around her. The Sleeping Beauty of the mind. Without training—your unhindered natural imagination reaches for metaphor—oh, Doris—do you know how exciting that is to a man of intellect? Think of all the smart things you must have said without realizing! Yes—a flower born to blush unseen—wasting your sweetness on the desert air. It is poetry. Famous poetry. And you spotted it. Like a thirsty root spots water. A sensitive nature like yours is no match for a bully. That’s the price of a thinking mind—sensitivity. I should have known. I should have realized why I was drawn to you. You’re smart. You’re not a dope. Dopes don’t cry. They have no pride. Dopes are not vulnerable. You can’t have too much pride. Pride constructs dignity and lives in it. It’s from an essay of mine. Would you like a drink? Are you cold? I know what it is. It’s the first shock of childbirth. It’s true, welcome to the world of the intellect. (He has become more and more excited.) This isn’t physical. That’s what makes it so exciting—don’t you see? That’s what draws us together—not the attraction of bodies, but the excitement of two live—healthy—exuberant minds—catting hungrily to one another!
Felix, you are now allowing yourself to admire Doris’s mind. You must do this to rationalize to yourself falling for such a woman. She’s got to have a good mind to compensate for her blatant sexuality, which is both exciting and agitating to you. You are dealing with denial and discovery. You are sexually stimulated and you allow yourself to become even more so as you discover and help to create the birthing of an original thinker of poetry. You now have permission to give in to your sexual feelings because after all, you are an intellect and the object of your desire is also an intellect! You can’t just let go and enjoy, with no guilt, honest sexual feelings and sex with her. You’ve got to sell yourself on her mind and you still cannot express your true feelings to her or to yourself.
As an actor, realize that if Felix cannot express or acknowledge his true feelings, then in his reality, he doesn’t know what you, the actor, know. Let him ask the questions but not know the answers. Asking the questions is enough. I don’t want resolution. I want conflict and obstacles all along the way.
You have never been so sexually stimulated in your entire life. It’s a wonderful discovery for you. This is, indeed, the most important day in your life.
pp. 51-57 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Doris: Hi, sweetie.
Felix: (Very quiet. He’s holding down the lid on boiling indignation.) Hello.
Doris: Hey, what’s this? We’ve only been living in sin for three weeks and already you don’t kiss me “hello” anymore?
Felix: I had a hard day. Have you been out?
Doris: Only for lunch. Hey, you wanna check the breakfast dishes? I’ll give you a half a buck you find any dirt or any dried soap this time!
Felix: Later. I saw somebody enter the building as I got off the bus. I thought it was you.
Doris: Must have been the girl downstairs. You hungry, sweetie?
Felix: No, I’ve got a headache. (Looking at her book.) Still on chapter two?
Doris: I had an awful lot of words to look up.
Felix: (Going to the dictionary, looks at it.) It wasn’t the girl downstairs.
Doris: Who? Oh—you want somethng for your headache?
Felix: No, thank you. I’m enjoying it.
Doris: Honest—some of the things you say sometimes.
Felix: Have you been working with your word for the day?
Doris: Oh—“impeccable”—sure—(Sneaking a look at her pad.) “Impeccable—without a fault—incapable of doing wrong.” Now, used in a sentence—let’s see. (Looking around.) Oh-when the typewriter got back from the repair shop, it was impeccable.
Felix: No—that’s wrong.
Doris: Why?
Felix: In three weeks I don’t think you’ve assimilated two new words.
Doris: Oh, come on—sure I have. Hey, what’s the matter with you tonight?
Felix: Have you been to the dictionary today?
Doris: Sure—I told you.
Felix: Yes—(He’s been taking off his tie. He sees the radio under the coffee table. He stands up.) Where’d you get the radio?
Doris: Oh—I picked it up at the junk shop—three bucks.
Felix: (Going to bedroom.) Good.
Doris: I don’t even know if it works.
Felix: (Exits to bedroom.) It looks brand new to me.
Doris: (Drags the set out, dumps the ashtray on it, rubs in the ashes, spits, scratches it with the ashtray as she talks.) It’s practically an antique—made in the year one. I think I got taken but I needed a radio for out here. You have to play that one in the bedroom so loud if you wanna hear it out here and my other one keeps conking out—so I figured-what the hell—I’d take a chance—sometimes these old beat-up sets play as good as a new one.
(She abruptly drops the aging process as FELIX comes out of the bedroom. He has taken off his coat.)
Felix: How many times did you say you used the dictionary today?
Doris: I don’t know. What’s wrong, honey?
Felix: Please go over to the dictionary and look at it closely.
Doris: (DORIS goes and looks at the dictionary.) What am I supposed to see?
Felix: Look at the edges—at the top—
Doris: What’s this? (Peeling off a strip of Scotch tape.)
Felix: That is a strip of Scotch tape. It’s been there for two days. Undisturbed. Where were you this afternoon?
Doris: That’s such a nasty thing to do.
Felix: Where were you yesterday afternoon?
Doris: I do not care for the tone of your voice.
Felix: Where did you get the dirty but brand new radio?
Doris: I’m warning you—stop it—this warning will not be repeated.
Felix: We’re not going to fight. We’re going to have an honest unemotional discussion.
Doris: Yeah? So you start out by calling me a liar.
Felix: I did not call you a liar. I’m not going to lose my temper.
Doris: You might as well. I’m gonna lose mine!
Felix: Would you care to tell me what’s wrong?
Doris: What’s wrong? You’re a creep that puts Scotch tape on the dictionary—you know that word—“creep”? Used in a sentence: “Fred Sherman is a big creep.”
Felix: (Starting at “Fred.”) What did you call me?
Doris: It’s your name. Fred—Freddie—I thought that would jar your apricots! I found your yearbook from school—Fred Sherman. You didn’t tell me you changed your name, did you? You creep. I’m sorry—pardon my language, but you are a creep.
Felix: It’s all right—it’s a step up from “fink.” Congratulations—now—I’d like to hear why you feel you have to sneak out afternoons and lie to me.
Doris: I just got bored. I had to get out. Look—I tried. I tried working on hats. I tried looking for a job, right? I tried.
Felix: Have you been plying your old trade?
Doris: Have I been what? No, I haven’t. I told you I was through doing that
Felix: Where’d you get the radio?
Doris: I collected some money. Somebody owed me some money and they paid me.
Felix: I see. Why didn’t you tell me that?
Doris: Because I knew you wouldn’t believe it. I knew what you’d think.
Felix: I see.
Doris: Don’t say, “I see,” like you were looking through your lousy spy glasses. Listen—why don’t you stop trying to make out like you’re a human being? I mean the strain must be terrible—why don’t you just relax and admit you’re God and you know all about everything?
Felix: Why did you have to lie? I just want to know why you lied to me about going out and about looking up words.
Doris: Because I’m a liar, okay?
Felix: Why didn’t you tell me?
Doris: Why didn’t you tell me you changed your name from “Fred” to “Felix”?
Felix: (Ignoring her question.) I’m very sad. You had a chance to do something important for yourself and you’re quitting. You’re not giving yourself a chance.
Doris: I gave myself a chance—you had me going there for a while, but it’s silly. I’m a dope and that’s all there is to it.
Felix: You’re not a dope. You’re a bright girl.
Doris: Not when it comes to dictionaries and the history of philosophy, I’m not. (Indicates the book she was reading.)
Felix: You have a potential capacity for—
Doris: (Interrupting.) No, I don’t have any potential anything.
Felix: (Losing the fight against his temper.) Don’t interrupt me—who do you think is better qualified to judge mental capacity—you or I?
Doris: You—
Felix: Then why are you arguing with me?
Doris: Felix, I—
Felix: Would I be wasting my time with you if you didn’t have a brain?
Doris: Felix—
Felix: Do you think an intellectual such as myself would waste his time with a dumbbell?
Doris: Felix, I know myself—you can’t tell me—
Felix: I tell you you’re a very intelligent girl, and you’d know it yourself if you weren’t so damned stupid!
Doris: I am not stupid! I’ve got good healthy everyday brains. I haven’t got your kind of brains and I’m glad, because I’m gonna tell you something—I think your brains are rotten!
Felix: Ah—the cat turns inevitably and bares her atavistic fangs.
Doris: To use those ugly, lonely words nobody else uses—that’s all your brains are good for. To keep people away because you’re scared to death of people!
Felix: She spits in inarticulate fury.
Doris: You know what your brains are good for? To make up your own lousy little language that the rest of the world can’t even understand.
Felix: Well, all right—stay with the rest of the world—don’t let anybody make you a foreigner there by teaching you to speak the English language!
Doris: (Going to closet.) What a dope I was to listen to you. (Mimicking him.) I’m gonna save you, Doris! (In her own voice.) You are such a phony, I can’t believe it. You don’t write for money but you keep sending your junk to magazines, don’t you? And you keep getting it sent back, don’t you? Meanwhile all you got is a phony job, a phony girlfriend, a phony apartment and a phony bunch of words! (She has taken the suitcase from the closet and started to throw garments into it as she talks.)
Felix: What are you doing?
Doris: What does it look like I’m doing?
Felix: (Quietly.) Now don’t get washed away. Think, Doris. Try to understand one basic thing. Try to hold on to what I see in you.
Doris: (Yelling.) You see nothing! You don’t see me at all! You don’t see anything. Because even your eyes are phony! (Knock on the wall. Doris addresses the wall; yelling.) I’ll be through in a minute! (To FELIX.) You know what you see in me? You never had a girl that made you feel like a big man in bed—that’s all.
Felix: Doris—
Doris: (Interrupting.) Well, I want to tell you something about what a hot stud you think you are in the sack—
Felix: Don’t say it, Doris—
Doris: You leave me cold, Fred. You’re nothing at all.
Felix: You’re raising your voice.
Doris: You do nothing to me, Freddie—you only think you do. You know why?
Felix: I know—you’re a great actress and to you that bed is theatre in the round—I know all about it—well, now I’m going to tell you something—I don’t leave you cold—I find you cold—“frigid”—is that word in your meager stock?
Doris: Drop dead.
Felix: Sure you’re an actress in bed—because you can’t be a woman.
Doris: With a man I can, Fred—Freddie, it takes a man.
Felix: Sometimes. Even with fantasies, and dirty words and the guilty stink of the sewer you can only sometimes whip yourself into a parody of passion—sometimes! Isn’t that right?
Doris: Stop yelling. Nobody’s listening to you. (She’s closing the suitcase.)
Felix: All right. You’re lost. Goodbye. I tried.
Doris: Now try shutting up. I’ll send for the TV. I’ll send a man! Take a good look at him.
Felix: (Follows her to the door.) No matter where you go or what you do or what you call yourself—you are now and forever a whore named Doris Wilgus.
Doris: Okay. And what are you now and forever? A miserable magazine peddler named Freddie Sherman and a lousy writer and you always will be and you wanna know why—? (Hitting him deliberately with every word.) Because, God damn it! The—sun—does—not—spit!
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
DORIS (to FELIX), age 20s to 30s.
pp. 51-57 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Hi, sweetie. Hey, what’s this? We’ve only been living in sin for three weeks and already you don’t kiss me hello anymore? Hey, you wanna check the breakfast dishes? I’ll give you half a buck you find any dirt or any dried soap this time! I’ve been here all day. You hungry, sweetie? I had an awful lot of words to look up. “Impeccable—without a fault—incapable of doing wrong.” Now, used in a sentence—let’s see. Oh—when the typewriter got back from the repair shop, it was impeccable. Hey, what’s the matter with you tonight? I picked up a radio at the junk shop—three bucks. I don’t even know if it works. It’s practically an antique—made in the year one. I think I got taken but I needed a radio for out here. You have to play that one in the bedroom so loud if you wanna hear it out here and my other one keeps conking out—so I figured—what the hell—I’d take a chance—sometimes these old beat-up sets play as good as a new one. And I’m not a liar! “Creep.” Used in a sentence: “Fred Sherman is a big creep.” It’s your name. Fred—Freddie—I thought that would jar your apricots! I found your yearbook from school—Fred Sherman. You didn’t tell me you changed your name, did you? You creep. I’m sorry—pardon my language, but you are a creep. All right, I’m sorry I have to sneak out afternoons and lie to you. I just got bored. I had to get out. Look—I tried. I tried working on hats. I tried looking for a job, right? I tried. I have not been plying my old trade! I told you I was through doing that. I collected some money to get the radio. Somebody owed me some money and they paid me. I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t believe it. I knew what you’d think. Listen—why don’t you stop trying to make out like you’re a human being? I mean the strain must be terrible—why don’t you just relax and admit you’re God and you know all about everything? I’m a liar, okay? Why didn’t you tell me you changed your name from Fred to Felix? I gave myself a chance—you had me going there for a while, but it’s silly. I’m a dope and that’s all there is to it. I’m not bright. Not when it comes to dictionaries and the history of philosophy, I’m not. I don’t have any potential anything. I am not stupid! I’ve got good healthy everyday brains. I haven’t got your kind of brains and I’m glad, because I’m gonna tell you something—I think your brains are rotten! To use those ugly, lonely words nobody else uses—that’s all your brains are good for. To keep people away because you’re scared to death of people! You know what your brains are good for? To make up your own lousy little language that the rest of the world can’t even understand. What a dope I was to listen to you. (Mimicking him.) “I’m gonna save you, Doris!” (In her own voice.) You are such a phony, I can’t believe it. You don’t write for money but you keep sending your junk to magazines, don’t you? And you keep getting it sent back, don’t you? Meanwhile all you got is a phony job, a phony girlfriend, a phony apartment, and a phony bunch of words! You see nothing! You don’t see me at all! You don’t see anything. Because even your eyes are phony! You know what you see in me? You never had a girl that made you feel like a big man in bed—that’s all. Well, I want to tell you something about what a hot stud you think you are in the sack. You leave me cold, Fred. You’re nothing at all. You do nothing to me, Freddie—you only think you do. I’ll send for the TV. I’ll send a man! Take a good look at him. I may be now and forever a whore named Doris Wilgus. Okay. And what are you now and forever? A miserable magazine peddler named Freddie Sherman and a lousy writer and you always will be and you wanna know why? Because, God damn it! The—sun—does—not—spit!”
Well, of course, we are dealing with rejection here. After giving, sharing yourself, trying to please him in every way possible, you discover he has lied to you. Not a big lie, but nevertheless a lie. And naturally you are feeling guilty about the radio. You are fighting for his love all the way through this conversation. Not for his respect. Actors make that mistake. They choose to be fighting for respect instead of love. If he loved you, he would then respect you and your feelings. He would protect you and want to be with you. Love is stronger than respect. With love comes everything else that is truly needed or wanted. But go for the love every time.
Be careful about playing the anger. Remember what anger is and play the origin of the anger. The hurt, the pain, the feelings of need. You are fighting for Felix’s love. He is your life. You are fighting for your life.
pp. 61–63 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Felix: Doris—why did you come back?
Doris: What does he mean, “counterfeit emotions and artificial images”?
Felix: He means the sun doesn’t spit.
Doris: (Reading.) He’s sorry! (Throws down the manuscript.) Who the hell does he think he is!?
Felix: Doris, why did you come back?
Doris: (Looking away from him.) I never had anybody like you in love with me before. I’ll never find anybody like you again.
Felix: You mean somebody who’ll try to change you and then say rotten things to you because he can’t change you?
Doris: Oh, I don’t care about that—I think you’re a talented sweet wonderful man.
Felix: You are disgusting, do you know that?
Doris: Don’t be mean to me—please.
Felix: Why not? That’s what you came for. Don’t you know you came back for that?
Doris: No, I didn’t—
Felix: Of course you did—why else but to be insulted? “Sweet wonderful man” she calls me! Have you forgotten the things we said to each other? Didn’t any of it register on your 39-cent plastic made-in-Japan brain?
Doris: Why can’t we be nice to one another? We could if we tried.
Felix: Oh God, listen to her! Don’t you know that you’re a criminal and an animal—how can I be nice to you?
Doris: But you care for me. I know you care for me.
Felix: (Shouting.) That’s what I’m talking about. I care for you!
Doris: You see—you said it! You said you care for me.
Felix: And you’re so pleased by the words that choke me!
Doris: Felix, please don’t talk that way. You love me and I love you. You can’t control those things. It’s not your fault.
Felix: No. Nature finds your level for you. You’re right. I’m just shocked to see my level—excuse me.
Doris: I know I’m nothing compared to you. I know that. But that doesn’t mean you’re like me just because you love me.
Felix: It doesn’t? Are you sure it doesn’t? Doesn’t your instinct tell you I’m your equal—the mate for you? Of course it tells you that!
Doris: Oh, baby—Not my equal. I’m nothing compared to you.
Felix: Nothings can only be loved by other nothings. It’s axiomatic.
Doris: Don’t say that. Maybe it isn’t love—You could just be sorry for me—or maybe you love me the way you love a pet.
Felix: There’s a thought!
Doris: Why not? A pet doesn’t have any brains—you don’t have anything in common with it—but you love it, don’t you?
Felix: Is that what you want to be—my pet?
Doris: Now don’t start twisting everything.
Felix: No, no, that sounds good—you could be my pet whore.
Doris: Felix . . .
Felix: Would you sleep in a box in the corner? Would you wear a collar? Would you run around the neighborhood nights? Yes, you probably would. Well, I could have you spayed, couldn’t I? (DORIS sits looking at him helplessly.) Well?
Doris: Well, what?
Felix: I don’t feel any reaction from you, how about it?
Doris: Don’t do that, Felix.
Felix: It was your idea. Don’t you even want to give it a chance? You could do it. I think you could. You’re already housebroken. I’m sure you could learn a few simple tricks. Going to the market, cleaning the apartment. Give it a try. What have you got to lose? Doris . . . try it. (Calling a dog.) Here Doris, here girl. (Whistles.) Come on, Doris, come on, good girl, Doris—pretty Doris. (DORIS starts to cry quietly.) Damn it, I’m serious about this, you stupid bitch. Don’t stand there like a human being!
Doris: I don’t understand what you want me to do. If you could explain it to me, I know I’d feel better.
Felix: I want you to be a nice girl and give me your paw. Come on, give Daddy your paw.
Doris: Don’t forget—I assimilated “impeccable.”
Felix: If you don’t give me your paw I’m going to give you away. Now give me your paw—come on.
Doris: You’re scaring me. Why do you want to do that?
Felix: Do you want me to give you away? Well, do you? Answer me! Do you want me to give you to some poor family who’ll beat you? Answer me—(She shakes her head.) Is that so hard to do?—is that such a difficult trick for a full-grown dog? Answer me! Can’t you tell me—is it hard to do? (DORIS shakes her head.) Well, then, why won’t you do it?
Doris: If I do will you stop acting like this?
Felix: We make no deals with pets here! Give me your paw, Goddamn it. (DORIS looks at him in helpless surrender. Slowly she raises her right hand and puts it into FELIX’S hand. He looks at her for a moment, then he melts. He bends and kisses her hand.) I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Doris. Doris, please forgive me.
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
FELIX (to DORIS), age 20s to 40s.
pp. 61–63 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Doris—why did you come back? You don’t want someone like me who’ll try to change you and then say rotten things to you because he can’t change you. If you don’t care about that, you are disgusting, do you know that? That’s what you came for. Don’t you know you came back for that? Of course you did. Why else but to be insulted? “Sweet wonderful man” she calls me! Have you forgotten the things we said to each other? Didn’t any of it register on your thirty-nine-cent plastic made-in-Japan brain? Don’t you know that you’re a criminal and an animal? How can I be nice to you? (Shouting.) And I do care for you! Nature finds your level for you. I’m just shocked to see my level. Doesn’t your instinct tell you I’m your equal? The mate for you? Of course it tells you that! Nothings can only be loved by other nothings. It’s axiomatic. Maybe I love you the way I would love a pet. There’s a thought! Is that what you want to be? My pet! That sounds good. You could be my pet whore. Would you sleep in a box in the corner? Would you wear a collar? Would you run around the neighborhood nights? Yes, you probably would. Well, I could have you spayed, couldn’t I? How about it? It was your idea. You could do it. You’re already housebroken. I’m sure you could learn a few simple tricks. Going to the market, cleaning the apartment. Give it a try. What have you got to lose? (Whistles.) Come on, Doris, come on, good girl, Doris. Pretty Doris. Damn it. I’m serious about this, you stupid bitch. Don’t stand there like a human being! I want you to be a nice girl and give me your paw. If you don’t, I’m going to give you away. Now give me your paw. Come on. Do you want me to give you to some poor family who’ll beat you? We make no deals with pets here! Give me your paw, Goddamn it! (He melts.) I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Doris. Please forgive me.
Felix, you are a tormented soul. You’ve had your story rejected, which, of course, is a bitter disappointment to you but it is also humiliating regarding Doris because she is the first one who told you that your story was phony. You have believed all along that she is intellectually inferior to you. But you also have been discovering along the way that she has enormous intelligence and astuteness. You now are beginning to doubt yourself. You are attacking her out of your own frustration and feelings of inadequacy. You hate yourself for the harshness of your words toward her. She has been giving to you. You treat her miserably. So what is it that you desperately need from Doris right now? How would you feel if really she told you off and walked out of your life? Is that what you think you want?
These are the kinds of questions you should be asking yourself. Remember, she is the most important person in your life. You don’t understand why she loves you so much when you treat her so badly. She shouldn’t love you the way she does. You are the one being so loved. It is an enormous obligation for one to be loved so much. Can you handle it? It appears as if you are having a very difficult time accepting her love. You keep testing her. She loves you. She shows it. She tells you. You keep needing more proof. Yes, Felix, you are indeed confused and tormented. You’re fighting for your life.
pp. 64–71 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Felix: Listen to me. I’m going to be very calm and quiet and I want you to try to understand me—all right?
Doris: Don’t use any big words.
Felix: I won’t. Now listen—although you can’t possibly see the reason for it—you must take my word—there’s only one thing for me to do now. I’ve got to kill myself.
Doris: Oh, don’t talk that way. You kidding?
Felix: I’m very serious.
Doris: But why? Why?
Felix: Didn’t I just say you can’t possibly understand why?
Doris: But sweetheart—listen—
Felix: (Interrupting.) Didn’t I say that?
Doris: Yes—
Felix: Didn’t I ask you to take my word for it? Can’t you do that much for me?
Doris: But I don’t—Felix, I—(Frustrated.) Oh, I could just kill you, sometimes!
Felix: (Sits at typewriter—puts in paper.) Just love me as you do, mindlessly, and see that this suicide note doesn’t get lost . . . (Thinking.) “To Whom It May Concern” . . .
Doris: Oh, Felix—I don’t want to live without you! I’ll never find anybody else like you.
Felix: You’ll settle for less. (Thinking.) “To Whom It May Concern—but never does—”
Doris: I’ll never be happy. I know I won’t. Didn’t I try to get along without you? Why do you think I came back?
Felix: It was only a week—
Doris: It wouldn’t make any difference how long it was. I know. I could see what kind of a life I would have. I couldn’t stand it. Not now. Before I met you I could have stood it—
Felix: Will you please shut up? I’m trying to work.
Doris: Then just tell me—can I commit suicide with you?
Felix: No, you can’t.
Doris: Please Felix—why not?
Felix: Because—I’m doing it alone—
Doris: Will it hurt if I do it with you?
Felix: Yes.
Doris: Why?
Felix: Because with me it’s an affirmation of principle—a rebuke to the world—with you it would just be “monkey see—monkey do”!
Doris: No, it wouldn’t. I would be doing it for the same reason you would.
Felix: Yours would dilute mine.
Doris: It would not!
Felix: How can I make her understand? Yours would be meaningless—you don’t have a good reason.
Doris: I can’t live without you.
Felix: That’s a silly, sentimental suicide—that’s just weakness and failure.
Doris: And what about yours?
Felix: Mine will be a proud taunting challenging suicide—a thought-provoking suicide.
Doris: Who’ll know the difference?
Felix: My note will explain the difference—(Thinking.) Because truth is dead. (Starting to type.) Because moral courage is dead—I, Felix Sherman, choose to die—(Weighing it.) have chosen to die—
Doris: Why can’t I, Doris Wheeler, have chosen to die also?
Felix: Doris, will you please shut up?
Doris: You’re making me real sore now. If I want to commit suicide you can’t stop me—it’s a free country!
Felix: (Very reasonably.) That’s true! I only ask that you don’t louse up mine!
Doris: But I don’t want to do it alone. I want to do it with you.
Felix: Well, you can’t and that’s all there is to it.
Doris: You’re nothing but a mean selfish son of a bitch. (She sits, angry.) I’ll fix you—I’ll tear up your suicide note.
Felix: You couldn’t do a thing like that.
Doris: I will unless you let me do it with you.
Felix: You couldn’t be so heartless.
Doris: Look who’s talking about heartless. You want to leave me all alone, don’t you? You’d do that to me, wouldn’t you? You don’t care about me at all! Nobody does.
Felix: (Relenting.) Doris—darling—listen—
Doris: It feels like a hot shower when you call me darling.
Felix: My dear strange child—please try to understand why I have to do this alone—I want it to have a certain impact. I want to hit out through every morning newspaper at all—
Doris: (Interrupting.) You’re very foolish from a newspaper standpoint.
Felix: I’m trying to force the public to think about—(Stops.) What did you say? The newspaper standpoint?
Doris: Certainly. What’s one fellow committing suicide? You can find that in the paper any day—in the back pages—but a good suicide pact is front-page news—
Felix: (Impressed with this. Then, discarding it.) Oh—but it’s so cheap, it’s—
Doris: Cheap? Listen, what about that beautiful note you’re writing? You want that mentioned on page thirty-two? “There was a piece of paper with writing on it on the jerk’s body.” Or you want it on the front page? “The dead lovers were both clutching a brilliant suicide note which said”—and so forth—
Felix: “Nos Morituri—Te Salutamus.” I think you’re right.
Doris: What is that?
Felix: We who are about to die, salute you. Latin.
Doris: Oh, Felix, really—“we”? Oh, honey, thank you!
Felix: (At the typewriter.) “To Whom It May Concern—we who are about to die, salute you—” Good, Doris—you’re right! -you’re instinctively right!
Doris: I guess it’s the actress in me. How are we going to do it?
Felix: Do what? Oh—I don’t know.
Doris: Sleeping pills are the nicest, but they’re hard to get.
Felix: Sweetheart—please let me concentrate—
Doris: Well, I could be handling the details if you’ll just give me a minute to make a decision—
Felix: Shhh—(Writing.) “Because truth is dead—”
Doris: I can’t decide this all by myself—
Felix: (Rises and paces.) It needs a finish—
Doris: Why don’t you knock off five minutes and we’ll work this out?
Felix: Work what out?
Doris: Then I could be making the arrangements.
Felix: Arrangements?
Doris: My absent-minded professor—how are we gonna do it?—gun—knife?
Felix: Oh, no!
Doris: I couldn’t agree with you more—but what then? We could never get enough sleeping pills.
Felix: No—not sleeping pills. Sleeping pills have such a neurotic connotation.
Doris: Well, we can’t get them anyway—what else is nice and painless and—? Hey—right under our noses—(Points to the stove.)
Felix: Gas? No—
Doris: Why not?
Felix: Gas is negative. Gas is passive defeat.
Doris: Well, I give up. What do you suggest?
Felix: Hemlock is what we need!
Doris: Hemlock?
Felix: That would be perfect. It would be eloquent!
Doris: Hang ourselves from a hemlock tree?
Felix: Hang ourselves? Oh no—hemlock is the poison of Socrates.
Doris: Poison? I’m sorry—no sir! Not me!
Felix: What’s your objection to poison?
Doris: Because I don’t wanna burn up my insides and have cramps and like that—
Felix: You can get painless poisons.
Doris: Where—at the drugstore?
Felix: Yes, as a matter of fact. You can buy poison to exterminate pests, can’t you?
Doris: (Laughing.) I can just see us sitting here spraying each other with bug bombs.
Felix: This is no joke, Doris.
Doris: I’m sorry—but what do we say? “Pardon me, sir—we want to kill some rats, but we don’t want to hurt them, they’re so cute”? Now listen to Doris—gas!
Felix: All right—I suppose it is the only sensible way—
Doris: Of course, dopey! And you were gonna do this alone!
Felix: I’ll finish the note.
Doris: (Going to the stove.) Now how will we work this?
Felix: (Getting a thought.) How does this sound—?
Doris: Honey, we got problems—
Felix: What?
Doris: Only one burner works. That’s not much gas.
Felix: It will work. We’ll have to plug up the door. It will take time—
Doris: We can’t do that—let this whole big room fill up with gas?
Felix: Why not?
Doris: We can’t waste all that gas!
Felix: Damn it! If you’re not serious about this, Doris—
Doris: Sure I’m serious about it.
Felix: “Waste all that gas”?
Doris: I’m sorry—it’s the way I was brought up—I can’t help it.
Felix: Well, we can’t do it anyway, not really.
Doris: What do you mean?
Felix: Too many chinks in those old windows—too much of a draft in here—the only way gas will work in this thing is to stick your head in the oven.
Doris: I don’t think it’s big enough.
Felix: Yes, it is.
Doris: Not for both of us.
Felix: No, but we could take turns.
Doris: Oh, yeah? No thank you. We’re doing it together. “Two-gether”—not “one gether.”
Felix: But what’s the difference? I’d let you go first, naturally.
Doris: Thanks a lot! And then you change your mind and I’m dead all by myself! . . . No thank you!
Felix: All right. I’ll go first.
Doris: And I’m gonna sit here waiting and check you to see if you’re done! . . . Forget it!
Felix: Well, maybe we can do it together. Let’s see—(They get down on their knees and try to fit their heads into the oven. There are ad-lib “Wait,” “Here,” “Now,” “No, no, sideways,” “Look out for my nose,” etc. They exhaust every possible combination of positions. DORIS starts to giggle. Deeply hurt.) Doris, why don’t you just go home and forget all about it?
Doris: I’m sorry, honey. It just struck me funny!
Felix: You’d think you were playing some kind of a birthday party game. We’re committing suicide, God damn it!
Doris: I know it, Felix—I’m sorry I laughed.
Felix: Are you sincere about this? Now really—if you’re not—
Doris: Of course I am.
Felix: Are you sure? I hope you are.
Doris: I am, honey. I just wanna make sure we go together—that’s all—wouldn’t that be best?
Felix: I suppose so. (Interrupting.) Wait a minute! Oh—that’s it! Of course!
Doris: What?
Felix: It combines painlessness and dramatic impact.
Doris: What, what?
Felix: A jump—hand in hand from a public building—
Doris: I don’t know—a jump?
Felix: It’s perfect! Talk about news value—talk about the front page—
Doris: It sounds kind of scary!
Felix: Why?—An exhilarating flight through space and then oblivion.
Doris: Well, I guess you wouldn’t feel anything. (Puts her hand between her knees.) Except a very cold breeze.
Felix: What a gesture—what a stage setting for my note.
Doris: What building though? This one isn’t high enough—
Felix: No—not this kind of a building—an office building. One of man’s monuments to his false gods—one located in the center of town.
Doris: We couldn’t get into an office building at this hour, could we?
Felix: No—you’re right—a hotel—that’s it! A hotel!
Doris: Yeah—we could check into a room on the top floor—Oh—I’ve got it—I’ve got it! Perfect—
Felix: What?
Doris: The Top of the Mark.
Felix: The Top of the Mark?
Doris: You know the bar—The Top of the Mark.
Felix: Yes, of course—look—a couple strolls in at the height of the evening’s revelry. Quietly they ask for a table at the window—twenty floors above the shining city. They sit for a moment—perhaps they order a drink—the man takes an envelope from his pocket and props it against his glass. Then they rise. They turn to the noisy, laughing room. In a loud voice the man calls out: “Goodbye, Gomorrah!”
Doris: Do I say anything?
Felix: What?—You don’t say anything.
Doris: It was my idea, you know.
Felix: All right—okay—you say something too—and then—
Doris: What do I say?
Felix: Whatever you want to—
Doris: Could I say what you said: “Goodbye, Tomorrow”?
Felix: “Goodbye, Gomorrah.”
Doris: What does that mean?
Felix: Don’t you remember Sodom and Gomorrah from the Bible?
Doris: Oh yes—the two wicked cities—sure—I get it. That’s good. Hey—how about, “Farewell, cruel world.”
Felix: Shut up.
Doris: Why?
Felix: Just shut up. Then together we yell—“Goodbye, Gomorrah,” and before their horrified eyes we turn to the window—and, hand in hand, we jump—
Doris: We ought to kiss first and blow kisses to the whole room—(FELIX gives her a disgusted look.) You know—goodbye kisses . . . You know the trouble with you? You only like your own ideas.
Felix: You just don’t understand this—you don’t get the values involved—It’s useless! I can’t work with you.
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
FELIX (to DORIS), age 20s to 40s.
pp. 64–71 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Listen to me. I’m going to be very calm and quiet and I want you to try to understand me. All right? Now listen. Although you can’t possibly see the reason for it, you must take my word. There’s only one thing for me to do now. I’ve got to kill myself. Just love me as you do, mindlessly, and see that this suicide note doesn’t get lost. (Thinking.) “To Whom It May Concern . . . but never does.”
I’m doing it alone. With me it’s an affirmation of principle—a rebuke to the world. With you it would just be “monkey see—monkey do”! Yours would dilute mine. Yours would be a sentimental suicide. That’s just weakness and failure. Mine will be a proud taunting challenging suicide. A thought-provoking suicide. My note will explain the difference. (Thinking.) Because truth is dead. Because moral courage is dead. I, Felix Sherman, choose to die. (Weighing it.) Have chosen to die.
My dear strange child. Please try to understand why I have to do this alone: I want it to have a certain impact. I want to hit out through every morning newspaper. I’m trying to force the public to think about this. (Has a revelation.) But a good suicide pact is front-page news! “Nos Morituri, Te Salutamus.” We who are about to die, salute you. Latin. Doris, you’re right! You’re instinctively right! How are we going to do it? Not sleeping pills. Sleeping pills have such a neurotic connotation. Gas is negative. Gas is passive defeat. Hemlock is what we need! That would be perfect! It would be eloquent! Hemlock is the poison of Socrates. Wait a minute! Oh—that it! Of course! It combines painlessness and dramatic impact. A jump—hand in hand from a public building. It’s perfect. Talk about news value! Talk about the front page. An exhilarating flight through space and then oblivion. What a gesture, what a stage setting for my note. An office building. One of man’s monuments to his false gods—one located in the center of town. No! A hotel—that it. Yes, of course. Look, a couple strolls in at the height of the evening’s revelry. Quietly they ask for a table at the window twenty floors above the shining city. They sit for a moment. Perhaps they order a drink. The man takes an envelope from his pocket and props it against his glass. Then they rise. They turn to the noisy, laughing room. In a loud voice the man calls out, “Goodbye, Gomorrah!” You don’t say anything. And before their horrified eyes we turn to the window and, hand in hand, we jump!
(Upset.) You just don’t understand this! You don’t get the values involved! It’s useless! I can’t work with you!
Felix, you are fighting for you life even though you are planning to end it. You are being quite dramatic about your conflict. Actually you are being downright self-indulgent and childish. As Felix, you don’t really know this. You are just in dire need of love. So as actor, enjoy doing this monologue. It’s totally self serving. And remember when you are doing comedy, you must fight even harder for what it is you are fighting for. And comedy deals with life and death just as drama does. There is no difference except the dialogue is set up to be absurd or outrageous but it is the actor who will bring in the laughs from the audience through honest life-and-death choices that deal with needs, vulnerability, humanity, and love. The more you reach out to Doris to create a relationship, the more honest your performance will be. Humor is situational and behavioral, not funny words. The more you give to the other character, the more you give to us, the auditors. We will believe you and, therefore, you have a good shot at getting a call-back.