STEAMBATH

by Bruce Jay Friedman

 

 

 

pp. 6–9 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

Oldtimer: That’s really something, isn’t it, when you sit down?

Tandy: It’s a bitch.

Oldtimer: (Rising, moves D.) It don’t bother me. When you’re a young fellow, it bothers you, but then you develop a tough ass.

Tandy: I knew your beard got tough, but I didn’t realize the other thing. . .

Oldtimer: It’s true. I’ve had some wonderful sweats in my time.

Tandy: (Taking off his shoes and socks.) That right?

Oldtimer: Oh yeah. When the Polish came in, the union gave them a steambath down on Fulton Street. Nobody sweats like the Polish. . . What you’re doing now?. . .

Tandy: (Feeling himself.) Yes?

Oldtimer: That’s garbage. (Sits on a small, folding stool, D. of L. wall.) You’re not sweatin’. . . I never exercised much, though. You see this area here. (Pulls flesh in his lower back region.) I always wanted to keep that nice and soft in case I got some spinal trouble. So the needle could go right in. I know guys, athletes, they’re so hard you can’t stick a needle into them. . . I figure it’s a good idea to keep it soft back there. (They sit a while longer, TANDY trying to read his magazine.) How do you feel about heart attacks?

Tandy: I’m against them.

Oldtimer: Lots of people are. I’ll say this for them, though. They don’t mark you. On the outside. They leave you clean as a whistle. That’s more than you can say for a gall bladder.

Tandy: I agree with you there.

Oldtimer: I seen guys get cut up for ulcers they got bellies look like the map of downtown Newark, New Jersey. . . People have always been a little too rough on heart attacks. The heart attack has always gotten a raw deal. (An unattractive young FELLOW spits on the floor from behind the upper tier of the R. pillar.) Hey, I saw that.

Bieberman: (From behind the pillar.) What?

(TANDY rises and looks behind the pillar.)

Oldtimer: You know what. What you did. Expectorating like that. That’s disgusting.

Bieberman: What’s wrong? It’s a natural fluid.

Oldtimer: You’re a disgrace. You got to watch him like a hawk. Probably farting back there, too. (TANDY, starting to sit back down, sits up and moves away.) Who the hell would ever know in a steambath?

Bieberman: I heard that. I’m not farting.

Oldtimer: Congratulations. . .

Bieberman: My generation doesn’t do that.

Oldtimer: Your generation can kiss my ass. (To TANDY who is putting on a towel found on tier R. of pillar.) What’s your line, young fella?

Tandy: I just quit my job. I was teaching art appreciation over at the Police Academy.

Oldtimer: That right? What the hell. . . I guess you got to do something. (TANDY sits back down on the lower slab.) Police, eh? Ever notice how you never get any trouble from the good people?

Tandy: Well, that’s for sure.

Oldtimer: It’s the bad ones you got to watch. You run the bad ones off the street that’ll be the end of your crime. You got a son?

Tandy: No, I’ve got a little girl.

Oldtimer: You got a son, I hope he’s a drunk. That’ll keep him off drugs. He starts in on that dope stuff you can kiss his ass good-bye. (From behind the R. pillar there is the loud sound of SOMEONE sucking on an orange.) What’s that guy doing now?

Tandy: (Going to see, L. of pillar.) Looks like he’s eating an orange. (Returning to the slab.)

Oldtimer: Yeah, but what’s he doing?

Tandy: (Goes back to see, narrowly missing being hit by a shower of seeds.) He’s spitting out the pits.

Oldtimer: Stupid mother. (Shouting to BIEBERMAN.) Hey, knock it off, will you?

Bieberman: Well, what am I supposed to do with them?

Oldtimer: Hold them in your hand. Swallow them. Shove them up your ass, what do I care. Just don’t spit them out. Didn’t you ever hear of a person tripping on pits? (TANDY sits back down on the slab.) They get some crowd in here. He’s probably a fag, too.

Two Young Men: (From behind the pillar, on the lower tier, speaking in unison.) No, we’re the fags.

Oldtimer: I beg your pardon. (More or less to himself, as TANDY goes to look.) I knew there were fags in here. (To TANDY.) You broke a sweat yet?

Tandy: (Sitting back down.) I can feel one coming.

Oldtimer: You know what would go down really well now? A nice cool brew. I drank a lot of beer in my time. One thing I’ll say for myself is that I never gained weight. I gained bloat. The trouble is—bloat weighs a lot, too. Most people don’t realize that. Bloat can kill you.

 

(An attendant, to be known as GOTTLlEB, enters U. with two cold glasses of beer on a tray. He wears a waiter’s red jacket, with a black bow tie clipped to the lapel with gray T-shirt and pants. He gives one glass to the OLDTIMER and the other to TANDY and exits.)

 

Tandy: What do you do?

Oldtimer: (Rising.) I done a lot of things. In my late years I took to hackin’ a cab. I was terrific once I got my daily icebreaker. But until then I wasn’t fit to live with. That’s how I had my crash—worried sick about getting my icebreaker. I come on the job at eight in the morning, it’s twelve o’clock noon I still hadn’t nailed a fare. I’m so upset I drive right through a furrier’s window. Into the beaver pelts. And I wound up with the car radio in my stomach. And I mean it was in my stomach, too. I had folk music coming out of my asshole. So that was it.

 

 

The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.

 

OLDTIMER (to TANDY), age 50s or older.
pp. 6–9 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

That’s really something, isn’t it, when you sit down! It don’t bother me. When you’re a young fellow, it bothers you, but then you develop a tough ass. It’s true.

I’ve had some wonderful sweats in my time. When the Polish came in, the union gave them a steambath down on Fulton Street. Nobody sweats like the Polish. What you’re doing now? That’s garbage! You’re not sweatin’. I never exercised much, though. You see this area here. (Pulls flesh in his lower back region.) I always wanted to keep that nice and soft in case I got some spinal trouble. So the needle could go right in. I know guys, athletes, they’re so hard you can’t stick a needle into them. I figure it’s a good idea to keep it soft back there.

How do you feel about heart attacks? Lots of people are against them. I’ll say this for them, though. They don’t mark you. On the outside. They leave you clean as a whistle. That’s more than you can say for a gallbladder. I seen guys get cut up for ulcers they got bellies look like the map of downtown Newark, New Jersey. People have always been a little too rough on heart attacks. The heart attack has always gotten a raw deal.

(An unattractive young fellow spits on the floor near him.) Hey, I saw that. You know what. What you did. Expectorating like that. That’s disgusting. You’re a disgrace. (To TANDY.) You got to watch him like a hawk. Probably farting back there, too. Who the hell would ever know in a steambath? (To other fellow.) Your generation can kiss my ass. (To TANDY.) So, you quit your job teaching art appreciation over at the Police Academy. What the hell. I guess you got to do something. Police, eh? Ever notice how you never get any trouble from the good people? It’s the bad ones you got to watch. You run the bad ones off the street and that’ll be the end of your crime. You got a son? You got a son, I hope he’s a drunk. That’ll keep him off drugs. He starts in on that dope stuff you can kiss his ass good-bye.

What’s that guy doing now? Looks like he’s eating an orange. He’s spitting out the pits. Stupid mother. Hey, knock it off, will you? Hold the pits in your hand. Swallow them. Shove them up your ass, what do I care. Just don’t spit them out. Didn’t you ever hear of a person tripping on pits? They get some crowd in here. He’s probably a fag, too.

You broke a sweat yet? You know what would go down really well now? A nice cool brew. I drank a lot of beer in my time. One thing I’ll say for myself is that I never gained weight. I gained bloat. The trouble is—bloat weighs a lot, too. Most people don’t realize that. Bloat can kill you.

I done a lot of things. In my late years I took to hackin’ a cab. I was terrific once I got my daily icebreaker. But until then I wasn’t fit to live with. That’s how I had my crash—worried sick about my icebreaker. I come on the job at eight in the morning, it’s twelve o’clock noon I still hadn’t nailed a fare. I’m so upset I drive right through a furrier’s window. Into the beaver pelts. And I wound up with the car radio in my stomach. And I mean it was in my stomach, too. I had folk music coming out of my asshole. So that was it!

You’re an oldtimer. You’ve been around. You’ve done a lot of things in a lot of bars around the world. Tandy is younger and has just arrived in this steambath, which you have a feeling is the last place you will ever have any kind of social confrontations. You’re opening up to him. Talking about your past experiences and beliefs. He has a look about him that makes him seem like an appealing person to talk to. You need to talk to someone here and everyone else seems to be a misfit.

In this monologue there is nothing in the dialogue to indicate a strong emotional reach-out and need. Therefore, it cannot be considered to be the perfect monologue.

However, it is so outrageous, funny, and dear that you, the actor bringing your humanity and strong choices, can create a very powerful vehicle to showcase yourself. You must make choices as to your need for Tandy to listen to you, care about you, indeed save you. This may not be what the playwright had in mind. But what the playwright had in mind usually has little to do with the actor during a monologue audition. Make it work for you. But make sure that you make life-and-death choices and that Tandy is the most important person in your life. When you know that the character is really dead, still make choices for him to be fighting for the rest of your life.

 

 

 

pp. 12–16 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

Meredith: (Kneeling on slab.) Listen, if you were with the cops, could you tell me exactly where to kick someone so that he’s temporarily paralyzed and can’t rape you—yet at the same time doesn’t feel you’re an insensitive person . . . ?

Tandy: We stayed away from that stuff in the art department. . ..

Meredith: Well, I have to move out of the city anyway. All the men you meet here insist on dressing you up in something before they make love to you—garter belts, stiletto heels, (Demonstrates.) earmuffs, Luftwaffe costumes. Right in the middle of this cultural wonderland, I spend all my time dressing up for weirdos, I don’t need that. I could’ve gotten that in St. Louis. . ..

Tandy: What really puzzles me is that I am able to talk to you so easily.

Meredith: What do you mean?

Tandy: (Sitting beside her.) Well, until recently, I had a great deal of trouble talking to yellow-haired girls. I felt I had to talk to them in verse or something. . . maybe wear special gloves. But apparently I’ve gotten over that.

Meredith: You’re so nice. I love meeting a nice new person like you. But look, I don’t want to get involved.

Tandy: Involved?

Meredith: I just can’t go through with that again. . .. I’ve had that this year. . . the phone calls. . . My skin. . .. For what it does to my skin alone, it’s not worth it. . .. Look, I just don’t have the strength for another affair. . .. Maybe around Labor Day. . .. If it’s worth anything, it’ll be good then, too. . .. Will you call me then?

Tandy: (Thinks awhile.) I’ll give you a ring.

Meredith: You’re not angry, are you?

Tandy: I’m not angry.

Meredith: It’s got nothing to do with you personally. . . you seem like a very sensual person.

Oldtimer: There’s a terrible stink in here. And I got a pretty good idea who’s responsible for it.

Bieberman: (From L. of L. pillar.) I haven’t done a thing recently.

Oldtimer: You’ll never convince me of that. Whatever you’re doing, cut it out—for my sake, for the sake of this steambath and for the sake of human decency.

Bieberman: I’m just sitting here, being natural, being myself. . .

Oldtimer: That’s what it is? Natural. . . that’s what you’ve got to stop. (BIEBERMAN rises, crossing back to R. pillar.)

Tandy: (To MEREDITH.) Listen, what do you think of this place?

Meredith: I like it.

Tandy: Notice anything peculiar about it?

Meredith: It smells a little funny.

Oldtimer: It sure as hell does.

Bieberman: (Turning from ladder, crosses down to TANDY, L. of the pillar.) I haven’t done a thing. I’ve been doing a crossword puzzle. What’s a six-letter word that means little red spikes of corn?

Oldtimer: How about “giggie”? Used in a sentence, it goes: “Up your giggie.”

Bieberman: Lovely. (Climbs back to upper tier of the R. pillar.)

 

(The BROKER appears U. carrying a folding convas stool. As he sits D., the lights darken and a small screen drops in. Stock quotations flash across the screen as they do in a brokerage office. The BROKER turns to watch them. He wears a T-shirt, boxer shorts and slippers.)

 

Broker: They put that in for me.

Tandy: (Moving D. to watch the screen.) How’s the market?

Broker: Lousy. If you own good stocks. When I went into this business, I had one piece of advice for every one of my customers: Put your money in good stuff. Stay away from shit. That’s what you want, find yourself another broker. I don’t touch it. So what happens in the last five years? The good stuff lays there, shit goes right through the roof. Some of my customers, they went to other brokers, they bought shit, they made fortunes. . . .

Meredith: (very trusting.) Maybe the good stuff will improve. If it’s really and truly good.

Broker: Nah. . . it’s too late for that. . . (Gets up, places the stool L. of the R. pillar and exits U. The screen flies out and the lights come back up.)

Tandy: That’s the kind of thing I was talking about. . ..

Meredith: (Moving to TANDY.) What do you mean?

Tandy: A guy like that . . . in here. . . watching stocks. . . it’s strange. (Moves L., searching overhead for screen.)

Meredith: I just wish the numbers wouldn’t go by so fast. You hardly have any time to enjoy them. Am I wrong or have you been doing pretty well lately?

Tandy: I’m doing fine. I got a divorce. I quit the police academy. I’m writing a novel about Charlemagne. And I just got involved in a charity. Helping brain-damaged welders. I was looking for a charity and that’s the one I picked. They send out a terrific brochure. There are an awful lot of them . . . welders. . . with brain damage. . . and they’re really grateful when you help them. You should see the looks on some of those welders’ faces. Could break your heart. . .. I’ve been doing pretty well. . . I’m real close to my ten-year-old daughter.

Meredith: (Sitting back down on slab.) You have a ten-year-old daughter?

Tandy: Oh yeah, we just got back from Vegas.

Meredith: How did she like it?

Tandy: (Sitting down, L. of MEREDITH.) Well, she thought little girls were allowed to gamble out there. She insisted that somewhere in Vegas there were slot machines that little girls were allowed to play. Well, I read that you shouldn’t disabuse a child of its fantasies, so I went along with the gag. So we spent four days looking for those special slot machines. Finally, at the airport, I told her that little girls were allowed to play the airport slots just before they got on the plane. She said, “I told you, Daddy.” We got very close on that trip. So I’ve been doing pretty well lately. . .. Meredith: Listen, you don’t think—

Tandy: What? What?

Meredith: (Moving D.) All I can remember is that Sheila and I were buying skirts at Paraphernalia. Then we went back to our high-rise apartment on 84th Street and, oh, yes, the Gristede’s delivery boy was waiting behind the drapes, with a crazy look on his face, holding a blunt instrument. . .. (Sits back down next to TANDY.)

Tandy: I was in my favorite restaurant, eating some Chinese food. I ordered up a double order of Won Shih pancakes. . .

Meredith: You don’t think?

Tandy: We’re dead? Is that what you were going to say? That’s what I was going to say. That’s what we are. The second I said it, I knew it. Dead? Just like that? Christ! Bam? (Moves L.)

Meredith: (Rising.) I had it pictured an entirely different way.

Tandy: What’s that?

Meredith: (Kneeling on slab.) Being dead. I thought dying meant that you’d have to spend every day of your life at a different Holiday Inn. Then I decided it was seeing “So Proudly We Hail” with Veronica Lake over and over for the rest of time. In a place where there were no Mounds bars.

(A voice is heard: “Goobers, Raisinettes, popcorn. And no Mounds bars.”)

Tandy: Don’t pay any attention. Somebody’s kidding around.

Meredith: No Mounds bars.

Tandy: I don’t know about you, but I’m not accepting this.

Meredith: What do you mean?

Tandy: (Crossing to his clothes, R. of R. pillar.) I don’t like the whole way it was done. Bam. Dead. Just like that. Just like you’re a schmuck or something.

Meredith: (Moving to him.) What are you going to do?

Tandy: (Putting on shirt and shoes.) I’ll do something. Don’t worry. I’m a doer. If you had any idea of the agony I went through to change my life around you’d see why I’m so pissed off. To be picked off like this when I haven’t even started to enjoy the good stuff.

Meredith: Well, how about me? I just had my first orgasm.

Tandy: (Stops what he’s doing.) Just now?

Meredith: No. While I was watching the David Frost Show. I was all alone, eating some Whip and Chill and I got this funny feeling.

Tandy: I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going along with it. Not now. Not when I’m just getting off the ground. Another time, later on, they want me to be dead, fine. Not now. Uh-uh. (Moving L.)

Meredith: (Crossing to TANDY.) I feel exactly the same way. How can I die? I haven’t even bought any vinyl bust harnesses. Alexander’s Mod Shop is expecting them any day. No, I absolutely can’t die. Is there something you can do?

 

 

The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.

 

 

MEREDITH (to TANDY), age 20s.
pp. 12–16 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

Listen, if you were with the cops, could you tell me exactly where to kick someone so that he’s temporarily paralyzed and can’t rape you—yet at the same time doesn’t feel you’re an insensitive person?

I have to move out of the city. All the men you meet here insist on dressing you up in something before they make love to you. Garter belts, stiletto heels, earmuffs, Luftwaffe costumes. Right in the middle of this cultural wonderland, I spend all my time dressing up for weirdos, I don’t need that. I could’ve gotten that in St. Louis.

You’re so nice. I love meeting a nice new person like you. But look, I don’t want to get involved. I just can’t go through with that again. I’ve had that this year. The phone calls. . . my skin. . . for what it does to my skin alone, it’s not worth it. . .. Look, I just don’t have the strength for another affair. . .. Maybe around Labor Day. . .. If it’s worth anything, it’ll be good then too. Will you call me then? You’re not angry, are you? It’s got nothing to do with you personally. . . you seem like a very sensual person. . .. All I can remember is that Sheila and I were buying skirts at Paraphernalia. Then we went back to our high-rise apartment on Eighty-fourth Street and, oh, yes, the Gristede’s delivery boy was waiting behind the drapes, with a crazy look on his face, holding a blunt instrument. . .. You don’t think. . . we’re dead? I had it pictured an entirely different way. Being dead. I thought dying meant that you’d have to spend every day of your life at a different Holiday Inn. Then I decided it was seeing So Proudly We Hail with Veronica Lake over and over for the rest of time. In a place where there were no Mounds bars. . .. I just had my first orgasm. Not just now! While I was watching the David Frost Show. I was all alone, eating some Whip and Chill and I got this funny feeling. . .. How can I die? I haven’t even bought any vinyl bust harnesses. Alexander’s Mod Shop is expecting them any day. No, I absolutely can’t die. Is there something you can do?

This is a sweet, ditzy nonmental giant of a young woman who just goes on allowing words to come as they may. Her values, well, what can we say? She’s simple. However, be careful not to fall into the trap and play her stupid, as unoccupied as her mind appears to be. You as Meredith do not know that you are not about to be accepted as a member of Mensa! You live your life, you have your needs, your desires, you like breastplates! But you also want and desire what everyone else does. Love, happiness, peace, and so on. And your very life is involved here. Fight for it from Tandy. You are making discoveries about what might have happened to you. You are dealing with the possibility of your own death. Make everything appear more important than it seems to be on the page. All of these things are very important to Meredith. They might not be to you but they are to her. Find the Meredith in you so that you will better understand how important these things can be.

This is one of the pieces for which I have to explain to actors that acting means playing parts that are nothing like the way we are. Acting is playing a character far removed from our own private sensibilities, who say and do things that we would never say or do (or so we think).

This is the kind of monologue to use when auditioning for the “dumb blond” that male playwrights used to love to write. Have fun with it.

You may substitute So Proudly We Hail with a film that you hated or found boring; Mounds Bars with your favorite candy bar; the David Frost Show with a contemporary television show, and Alexander’s Mod Shop with a boutique or department store of your choice.

 

 

 

pp. 14–25 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

Tandy: I’m doing fine. I got a divorce. I quit the police academy. I’m writing a novel about Charlemagne. And I just got involved in a charity. Helping brain-damaged welders. I was looking for a charity and that’s the one I picked. They send out a terrific brochure. There are an awful lot of them . . . welders . . . with brain damage . . . and they’re really grateful when you help them. You should see the looks on some of those welders’ faces. Could break your heart. . .. I’ve been doing pretty well . . . I’m real close to my ten-year-old daughter.

Meredith: (Sitting back down on slab.) You have a ten-year-old daughter?

Tandy: Oh yeah, we just got back from Vegas.

Meredith: How did she like it?

Tandy: (Sitting down, L. of MEREDITH.) Well, she thought little girls were allowed to gamble out there. She insisted that somewhere in Vegas there were slot machines that little girls were allowed to play. Well, I read that you shouldn’t disabuse a child of its fantasies, so I went along with the gag. So we spent four days looking for those special slot machines. Finally, at the airport, I told her that little girls were allowed to play the airport slots just before they got on the plane. She said, “I told you, Daddy.” We got very close on that trip. So I’ve been doing pretty well lately. . ..

Meredith: Listen, you don’t think—

Tandy: What? What?

Meredith: (Moving D.) All I can remember is that Sheila and I were buying skirts at Paraphernalia. Then we went back to our high-rise apartment on 84th Street and, oh, yes, the Gristede’s delivery boy was waiting behind the drapes, with a crazy look on his face, holding a blunt instrument. . .. (Sits back down next to TANDY.)

Tandy: I was in my favorite restaurant, eating some Chinese food. I ordered up a double order of Won Shih pancakes . . .

Meredith: You don’t think?

Tandy: We’re dead? Is that what you were going to say? That’s what I was going to say. That’s what we are. The second I said it, I knew it. Dead? Just like that? Christ! Bam (Moves L.)

Meredith: (Rising.) I had it pictured an entirely different way.

Tandy: What’s that?

Meredith: (Kneeling on slab.) Being dead. I thought dying meant that you’d have to spend every day of your life at a different Holiday Inn. Then I decided it was seeing “So Proudly We Hail” with Veronica Lake over and over for the rest of time. In a place where there were no Mounds bars.

(A voice is heard: “Goobers, Raisinettes, popcorn. And no Mounds bars.”)

Tandy: Don’t pay any attention. Somebody’s kidding around.

Meredith: No Mounds bars.

Tandy: I don’t know about you, but I’m not accepting this.

Meredith: What do you mean?

Tandy: (Crossing to his clothes, R. of R. pillar.) I don’t like the whole way it was done. Bam. Dead. Just like that. Just like you’re a schmuck or something.

Meredith: (Moving to him.) What are you going to do?

Tandy: (Putting on shirt and shoes.) I’ll do something. Don’t worry. I’m a doer. If you had any idea of the agony I went through to change my life around you’d see why I’m so pissed off. To be picked off like this when I haven’t even started to enjoy the good stuff.

Meredith: Well, how about me? I just had my first orgasm.

Tandy: (Stops what he’s doing.) Just now?

Meredith: No. While I was watching the David Frost Show. I was all alone, eating some Whip and Chill and I got this funny feeling.

Tandy: I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going along with it. Not now. Not when I’m just getting off the ground. Another time, later on, they want me to be dead, fine. Not now. Uh-uh. (Moving L.)

Meredith: (Crossing to TANDY.) I feel exactly the same way. How can I die? I haven’t even bought any vinyl bust harnesses. Alexander’s Mod Shop is expecting them any day. No, I absolutely can’t die. Is there something you can do?

Tandy: I’ll check around, see if I can find out something. (They exit U. The BROKER has entered U. L. He stands R. of the L. pillar, takes a shot of whiskey from a small bottle on the U. R. shelf, and begins to work a hand exerciser he takes from the D. shelf.)

Oldtimer: (Reading newspaper.) Says here they got a new gas. One gallon of it’ll wipe out an entire enemy country. . .

Broker: They got more than that. They got another one—just one drop in the water supply and the whole continent starts vomiting. (Sits R. of pillar.)

Oldtimer: (Sniffing.) They could bottle the smell around here, they don’t need any gas. You hear that up there?

Bieberman: (From behind the R. pillar.) I’m not doing anything. I’m working on my toes.

Oldtimer: I knew it, the sonofabitch. What are you doing to them?

Bieberman: Trimming down the nails.

Oldtimer: In here? This is where you picked? Cut it out, will you, you slob, you’re trying my patience.

(The TWO YOUNG MEN move D. on the U. R. tier of R. pillar. They sit preparing pieces of fabric for tie-dyeing. BIEBERMAN has stretched out with his crossword puzzle U. L. tier of the pillar.)

Tandy: (Entering U. and coming D. R. of the R. pillar.) Can I see you a second, Oldtimer, in private? (Takes stool from L. of pillar and sets it D. of the shower.)

Oldtimer: (Taking stool from L. wall, joins him.) What’s on your mind, fella? Having trouble breathin’? (Demonstrating.) Suck it in through your mouth awhile.

Tandy: I was sitting over there with this girl . . .

Oldtimer: (Lasciviously.) The one with them chitty chitty bang bangs?

Tandy: That’s the one. (Sits on stool.)

Oldtimer: Don’t let her get hold of your liverwurst. They get an armlock on that they never let go. (Sits L. of TANDY.)

Tandy: I got the idea we were dead. And she agrees with me. Now I can take the dead part. That doesn’t scare me. I get older, a little tired, fine. I even thought maybe later on, things go smoothly, maybe I’ll knock myself off. Make it simple. But the timing’s all wrong now. I’m just getting off the ground. I’m in the middle of writing an historical novel. Right in the fucking middle. (I don’t talk this way in the book.) It’s about Charlemagne. I’ve got a great new girl friend cooks me shish kebab. Bryn Mawr girl. And she still cooks shish kebab. Doesn’t bother her a bit. And I never think about Wendy.

Oldtimer: Wendy?

Tandy: (Getting up and moving R.) My ex-wife. Wendy Tandy. Jesus, I just realized, she was Wendy Hilton. I turned her into Wendy Tandy. I probably blew the whole marriage right there. She never went for that name. Can’t say that I blame her. Anyway I don’t think about her anymore. Weeks at a time. She could be out fucking the whole Royal Canadian Mounties, I don’t give it a thought. I forgive her. She’s a little weak. It’s got nothing to do with me. So, you see, I’m really just starting a wonderful new chapter of my life. And along comes this death number—I thought maybe you could help me. . . .

Oldtimer: I hardly know what to say to you, fella. You come at me like a ten-foot wave.

Tandy: Is there a guy in charge? Somebody I can talk to. E. G. Marshall? Walter Pidgeon?

Oldtimer: There’s a guy comes in here. I see him I’ll point him out.

Tandy: (Sitting back down on stool.) Thanks. You’re not a bad skate. When we get out of this, maybe we can pal around together.

Oldtimer: You probably smell the sea on me. Before I took up hackin’ I worked the China Coast for seventeen years. Me and my friend Ollie were the most widely respected duo west of Macao. We’d get ourselves a couple of juki juki girls, take ’em up on deck and do a little missionary work with ’em anchored in front of Bruce Wong’s Monkey Meat Shop in Hong Kong Harbor. They arrested Ollie for abusing himself into the holy water fountain at the Merchant Seaman’s Chapel. He died in irons and I lost the best friend I ever had. . .. (He takes his stool U. and sits D. of the pillar.)

Meredith: (Enters and kneels R. of TANDY. She is now carrying the towel that had been draped over her shoulders.) What did the old man say?

Tandy: (Disturbed by her nudity.) He said there’s a fellow around who seems to be in charge. That he’d point him out to me. Listen, how do you feel?

Meredith: I didn’t mind being nude, if that’s what you mean. I just don’t attribute that much importance to it.

Tandy: I know that. I can tell.

Meredith: I wouldn’t want to go out and do splits or anything.

Tandy: Who asked you to do splits? Is that what you think I want—splits?

Meredith: I just like to be nude sometimes. It’s very tranquil.

Tandy: You see, that’s where I really got a bum steer. The fellow who first taught me about sex—very smart guy, been all over, a Socialist—he told me, “Remember one thing, kid, women feel uncomfortable about being nude.” So for a long time I went around covering up nude girls. They’d say, “What the hell are you doing?” and I’d say, “C’mon, I know you’re uncomfortable.” And I was wrong. I covered up some gorgeous women. . .. (Takes her hand and holds it.)

(A bearded PUERTO RICAN ATTENDANT enters U. R. and crosses to a mop and bucket U. R. He is dressed in white work pants and undershirt, with a rolled handkerchief tied around his neck and a black beret on his head. He wrings out the mop in the wringer on the bucket and crosses D. L. to the sink, as the BROKER rolls the bucket along after him. The PUERTO RICAN ATTENDANT sings as he goes. Placing the mop against the wall below the sink, he stops singing as if finished and there is a smattering of applause which he stops with a gesture. After a big finish, he gestures for applause and says, “Thank you, music lovers.” He turns to the upright electric console against the U. wall of the alcove and rolls it D. As he touches it, a screen on the console lights up.)

Oldtimer: (Rising, signaling to TANDY.) Psssst.

Tandy: (Gesturing toward ATTENDANT.) Him? (OLDTIMER acknowledges correctness with a wink.) You sure?

Oldtimer: Yup. . . .

Tandy: (To MEREDITH.) He says that’s the fellow in charge.

Meredith: He’s cute. (TANDY and MEREDITH move to the R. pillar and sit D.)

P. R. Attendant: (To console.) Hiya, baby. (As he talks to the console, it answers in short series of electronic sounding bleeps. During the conversation he removes the wringer from the bucket, dumps the water into the sink, refills it and adds soap, finally replacing the wringer.) San Diego Freeway. (Bleep.) . . . All right, first thing, I want that Pontiac moving south past Hermosa Beach to crash into the light blue Eldorado coming the other way. (Bleep.) Make it a head-on collision (Bleep.) . . . the guy in the Chevy—his wife’s got her ass out the window—it’s the only way they get their kicks (Bleep).—they’re going to jump the rail into the oncoming lane, fuck up a liquor salesman in a tan Cougar. No survivors. . .. (Longer series of bleeps.) All right, what’s-his-name—(Bleep.) Perez, (Bleep.) the Puerto Rican schmuck from the Bronx. The one who says, “My wife and I—we are married forty years. We are born on the same hill. There can be no trouble.” He comes home tonight, I want her screwing her brother. (Bleep.) Perez walks in, goes crazy, starts foaming at the mouth, the other tenants in the building tie him to a radiator. . . . (Longer series of bleeps.) All right, the guy from St. Louis (Bleep.) . . . bedspread salesman . . . adopted all those Korean kids. (Bleep.) Him they pick up in the men’s room of the Greyhound Bus Terminal. Grabbing some truckdriver’s schvonce. (Bleep.) They ask around, find out he’s been doing it for years. . .. The kids get shipped back to Korea. (Bleep.) Now, here’s one I like . . . The screenwriter flying out to Beverly Hills. Coming on with the broads. Here’s what happens. Over Denver, a stewardess throws a dart in his eye. No doctor on board. He has to go all the way to Los Angeles like that. . .. (Longer series of bleeps. He checks gauges and pipes D. L.) The hooker—(Bleep.) little fat one (Bleep.)—been peddling her ass in Barcelona for three years—took on 4,000 sailors—she’s saved up a few bucks, she’s gonna go straight. Get ready. This is rough. (Bleep.) I want her found in a dirt pit on Montauk Highway. And if the parents really carry on, I mean really piss and moan, then go after the sister, too, the homely one. Give her an ear infection. (Longer bleep. Sitting on the edge of the sink, he takes out a pocket knife and cleans his fingernails.) Now, the producer up in New Haven . . . (Bleep.)

Never had a hit. Doing a $750,000 musical . . . the whole show depends on the female star. (Bleep.) All right. A police dog gets loose in the theater and bites her tits off. (Bleep.) The understudy is scared shit, but she goes on anyway. Bombsville. Next day, the guy gets out of the business. . .. (Bleeps and the console light goes off.) Wait a minute. (Console light back on.) I got an idea. Back to the Freeway. (Long bleep.) That guy whose radiator boiled over. . . on the side of the road, saw the whole thing. Thought he got away clean. He gets knocked unconscious by the bare-assed broad. Never knew what hit him. That’s all for now. (He takes laundry basket from under sink, and crosses behind L. pillar.)

Tandy: You sure that’s the guy?

Oldtimer: That’s him all right. He runs the show.

Tandy: What’s his name?

Oldtimer: Morty.

Tandy: A Puerto Rican guy? Morty?

Oldtimer: It’s Spanish. (Pronouncing name with Spanish inflection.) Mawwrrr-teee.

Tandy: (To MEREDITH.) He’s sure that’s the fellow in charge.

Meredith: Well, if he isn’t, he certainly has a rich imagination.

Tandy: You say he hangs around here?

Oldtimer: All the time. He comes and goes.

(ATTENDANT returns to sink, puts basket down on chair, turns to console again. His voice is softer now. He sits on the edge of sink, takes off shoe and puts it back on.)

P. R. Attendant: OK, (The screen again lights up.) the other side of the coin. (Bleep.) That’s the kid in the hospital in Trenton, beautiful kid, works for Carvel’s. (Bleep.) Got his foot shot off in a stick-up. (Bleep.) The night nurse comes in, jerks him off under the covers. Lovely broad, little old, really knows what she’s doing. . .. (Bleep.) Give Canada a little more rain. . .. (Longer series of bleeps.) That Indian tribe outside of Caracas. (Bleep.) Sick little guys, they ain’t got a hundred bucks between ’em. . .. Government doesn’t give a shit. CBS moves in, shoots a jungle series there, throws a lot of money around. . .. (Bleep.) The old lady with the parakeet, flies out the window, flies back in. . .. (Bleep.) Wellesley girl, parents got a lot of dough—she’s sittin’ on a ledge—36th floor of the Edison Hotel. (Bleep.) A cop crawls out after her, tells her she’s a pain in the ass. They go back in, watch a hockey game on TV. (Bleep.) And clean up that garbage in the lobby. It’s disgusting. (Longer series of bleeps.) That spade they beat up at Chicago Police headquarters. Got a landing strip for a head. (Bleep.) All right, kill the cop who roughed him up—and then send the spade over to Copenhagen for a vacation. (Bleep.) At least three months. I don’t know who picks up the tab. He’s got a cousin in the music business. Records for Decca. . .. All right, that’s enough good stuff. (Crossing to exit U.)

Voice: (From above, fills the steambath.) You need one more.

P. R. Attendant: Christ, I’m exhausted. Uhh . . . Put bigger bath towels in all the rooms at the Tel Aviv Hilton Hotel.

Voice: Terrific!

P. R. Attendant: You kidding, buddy . . . ? (Exits.)

Meredith: I liked him much more the second time.

Tandy: He’s got some style. Who’s he think he is?

Oldtimer: (Rises, moves D. to shower, wipes hands on rag.) God.

Tandy: (Moving to OLDTIMER.) You believe that?

(The TWO YOUNG MEN, having come down, stretch out on towels on the floor, leaning against the D. R. wall.)

Oldtimer: I’m not saying yes and I’m not saying no. I been around and I seen a lot of strange things in my time. I once stood in an Algerian pissoir urinal and watched the head of a good friend of mine come rolling up against my size 12 moccasins like a bowling ball. Cut right off at the neck. He’d gotten into a little scuffle with some Ghurkas. May have called one of them a fag. Didn’t know there aren’t any fag Ghurkas.

Two Young Men: That’s what you think.

Tandy: (Moving D. L.) Well, what the hell are we supposed to do, just stay here?

Broker: (Going to TANDY.) There’s nothing that great out there. The market stinks. You don’t make a quarter unless you’re in pork bellies. That ain’t investing. (Returns to sit L. pillar.)

Tandy: I’m not going along with this. For Christ’s sakes, I’m in the middle of writing an historical novel. About Charlemagne. I got all that research to do. So far I’ve been going on instinct. What the hell do I know about Charlemagne? But the book feels good.

Meredith: (Rises.) And I’ve got an appointment at the beauty parlor. To get a Joan of Arc haircut. And Sheila and I are going to make little plastic surrealistic doodads and sell them to boutiques.

Tandy: I’ll get us out of this. (Indicating D. R. door.) Did you try the door?

Meredith: No, why?

Tandy: Don’t try it. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t open. If I find out for sure I’ll get claustrophobia. . .. Is there another way out? What’s this door? (Referring to second door, D. L.)

Oldtimer: You go through there.

Tandy: When’s that?

Oldtimer: Hard to say. . .. We had a guy a baker, he put him in there.

Tandy: What did he do?

Oldtimer: Not much. Beat the Puerto Rican in armwrestling.

Broker: Had a little trouble with his baking though. Everything used to burn up on him. Pastries, cupcakes . . . meat-pies . . .

Tandy: Don’t tell me about cupcakes now . . . no cupcakes. When he puts you in there, does he let you out? (The OTHERS laugh. The OLDTIMER gestures as if to say, “Are you kidding?”) And that’s it, the two doors?

Oldtimer: That’s it. That’s the whole cheesecake.

Tandy: (Runs to the D. R. door, tries it. It doesn’t open. Tries a little harder. Still won’t.) About the way I figured. I’ll get us out of here, don’t worry. You with me? (Sitting D. R. of MEREDITH D. of R. pillar.)

Meredith: Are you serious? Of course. But you haven’t said how.

(The Two YOUNG MEN stretch out on their towels D. R.)

Tandy: I’ll get us out. You’ll find I do most things well. Of course, I have never been able to get out to Kennedy Airport. On my own. I can get near it, but never really in it. The Van Wyck Highway scene really throws me.

Meredith: You’re sort of inconsistent, aren’t you?

Tandy: You noticed that, eh? I admit it. I’ve got wonderful qualities, but getting out to airports is not one of them.

Don’t worry, though, I’ll get us out of here. By sheer strength of will and determination. I believe I can do anything if I really put my mind to it. I’ve always felt that even if I had a fatal illness, with an army of diseased phagocytes coursing through my body in triumph . . . (Two YOUNG MEN get up, snap their towels in disgust and disappear behind the R. pillar.) if I really decided to, I could reverse the course of those phagocytes and push them the hell back where they belong. . ..

Meredith: The world admires that kind of determination.

Tandy: You’re damned right.

Meredith: What if we really are dead, though?

Tandy: I know. I’ve been trying not to think about it. No more toast. No more clams. Clams oregano.

Meredith: No more playing with Mr. Skeffington.

Tandy: Mr. Skeffington? Wait a minute, don’t tell me. That’s your cat.

Meredith: Yes.

Tandy: How can you compare that in seriousness to the things I’m talking about? I’m talking about big stuff. No more being under the covers. No more airline stewardesses . . . Newsweek . . . Jesus, no more Newsweek. Wait a minute, I’ll get this straightened out right now.

 

 

The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.

 

TANDY (to MEREDITH), age 30s to 50.
pp. 14–25 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

I’m doing fine. I got a divorce. I quit the police academy. I’m writing a novel about Charlemagne. And I just got involved in a charity. Helping brain-damaged welders. I was looking for a charity and that’s the one I picked. They send out a terrific brochure. There are an awful lot of them . . . welders . . . with brain damage . . . and they’re really grateful when you help them. You should see the looks on some of those welders’ faces. Could break your heart. . . . I’ve been doing pretty well. . .. I’m real close to my ten-year-old daughter. We just got back from Vegas. She thought little girls were allowed to gamble out there. She insisted that somewhere in Vegas there were slot machines that little girls were allowed to play. Well, I read that you shouldn’t disabuse a child of her fantasies, so I went along with the gag. So we spent four days looking for those special slot machines. Finally, at the airport, I told her that little girls were allowed to play the airport slots just before they got on the plane. She said, “I told you, Daddy.” We got very close on that trip. So I’ve been doing pretty well lately. . .. Listen, you don’t think. . . I was in my favorite restaurant, eating some Chinese food. I ordered up a double order of Won Shih pancakes . . . you don’t think . . . we’re dead? That’s what I was going to say. That’s what we are. The second I said it, I knew it. Dead? Just like that? Christ! Bam? I don’t know about you, but I’m not accepting this. I don’t like the whole way it was done. Bam. Dead. Just like that. Just like you’re a schmuck or something. I’ll do something. Don’t worry. I’m a doer. If you had any idea of the agony I went through to change my life around you’d see why I’m so pissed off. To be picked off like this when I haven’t even started to enjoy the good stuff. I’ll tell you right now, I’m not going along with it. Not now. Not when I’m just getting off the ground. Another time, later on, they want me to be dead, fine. Not now. Uh-uh. I’ll get us out of this. Don’t try the door. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t open. If I find out for sure I’ll get claustrophobia . . . I’ll get us out. You’ll find I do most things well. Of course, I have never been able to get out to Kennedy Airport on my own. I can get near it, but never really in it. The Van Wyck Highway scene really throws me. I’ve got wonderful qualities, but getting out to airports is not one of them. Don’t worry, though, I’ll get us out of here. By sheer strength of will and determination. I believe I can do anything if I really put my mind to it. I’ve always felt that even if I had a fatal illness, with an army of diseased phagocytes coursing through my body in triumph . . . if I really decided to, I could reverse the course of those phagocytes and push them the hell back where they belong . . .

No more toast. No more clams. Clams oregano. No more being under the covers. No more airline stewardesses . . . Newsweek . . . Jesus, no more Newsweek. Wait a minute, I’ll get this straightened out right now.

Although we know Tandy is talking to Meredith, there is no mention in his dialogue of her. You must, therefore, talk to her or to whomever you choose to be talking to. The person to whom you are talking is the most important person in your life. You’ve got to create the other character. She is in the play but she is not in the monologue. Technically this is not considered a perfect monologue for this reason. You must decide why you are telling her all this and what it is that you need from her. Of course, it is your life. How can she help you? You must come up with reasons why she can help you to save yourself. She is young, gorgeous, and so on, and you are-trying to impress her and you want her to be saved with you so that she can be in your life. And if you cannot save your life, you need her with you wherever you are heading.

 

 

 

pp. 25–42 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

P. R. Attendant: (Turning to him.) You addressing I?

Tandy: That’s right. What’s the deal around here? The Oldtimer says you’re God.

P. R. Attendant: Some people call me that. (Takes bucket from floor and fills it in sink.)

Tandy: But that’s ridiculous . . . a Puerto Rican . . .

P. R. Attendant: The Puerto Ricans go back hundreds of years. Millions. There were Puerto Ricans in Greece, Rome. Diogenes—very big, very strong Puerto Rican. Too many people make fun of the Puerto Ricans. Very fine people. Lot of class. We got José Torres, Mario Procaccino . . . (Takes soap from shelf and puts it in bucket.)

Tandy: All right, I’ll go along with you for a second. You’re God. Why would you be sweeping up, a lowly job like that?

P. R. Attendant: I like it. It’s therapeutic. It’s easy on the nerves.

Tandy: (Moving L. above the shower.) God . . . a Puerto Rican steambath attendant. That’ll be the day.

P. R. Attendant: (Crossing to R. pillar with bucket and sponge.) Look, I’ll tell you what, fella. You say I’m not God. All right. You got it. I’m not God. Fabulous. You got what you want. (Pointing to BIEBERMAN on U. L. tier.) He’s God.

Oldtimer: He ain’t God. He’s a slob.

(MEREDITH moves to the R. wall out of the ATTENDANT’S way as he begins to rub D. R. side of pillar.)

Bieberman: Everything doesn’t pay off in cleanliness. There are other virtues.

Oldtimer: You stink to the high heavens.

Two Young Men: You’re being much too tough on him.

Oldtimer: Don’t you two ever split up?

Two Young Men: (Seductively.) Make us an offer.

P. R. Attendant: Mister, just don’t bug me. All right? I got a lot on my mind.

Tandy: There’s another one. God talking slang. How can I go along with that?

P. R. Attendant: (Moving to L. side of pillar and wiping it down.) I talk any way I want, man. The Lord speaks in funny ways. Remember that. You want to discuss the relativity of mass, the Lorentz Transformation, galactic intelligence, I’ll give you that, too. Just don’t bug me. All right? Don’t be no wise ass.

Tandy: That was more like it. You had me going there for a second. I respect anyone who really knows something, my work being as transitory as it is. It’s when you talk dirty. . .

P. R. Attendant: The way I talk, don’t you see that’s just a little blink of an eye in terms of the universe, the job I got to do? The diameter of an electron is one ten-trillionth of an inch. And you’re telling me I shouldn’t talk dirty. Let me talk the way I want. Let me relax a little. (Crosses D. L., puts bucket in sink, turns to console again.) All right, (Console light goes on.) give that girl on the bus a run on her body stocking. (Bleep.) And close up that branch of Schraffts. . . . (Bleep.) And send up a bacon-and-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich, hold the mayo. (Bleep.) You burn the toast, I’ll smite you down with my terrible swift sword. (Bleep. The console light goes out.)

Tandy: I still don’t buy it. That could be an ordinary TV screen. You could have been watching Laugh-In.

P. R. Attendant: Laugh-In? (Turns to console. The light goes on.) Cancel Laugh-In. (Bleep. Pushes console back against the wall.) There’s Laugh-In. You still want to fool around?

Tandy: I don’t watch Laugh-In. Only thing I watch on TV is pro football. Gets better every year. (The ATTENDANT takes the bucket, crosses to shower pit, sits on U. edge and begins to scrub it.) Look, you’re asking me to buy a whole helluva lot. You’re challenging every one of my beliefs.

P. R. Attendant: You think I care about your beliefs? With the job I got on my mind?

Tandy: (Moving to him.) You care. I may be one man, but there exists within me the seed of all mankind.

P. R. Attendant: (Clapping.) Very good. I’m going to give you a ninety on that.

Tandy: I used to tell that to my art appreciation students over at the Police Academy.

P. R. Attendant: (Returning to scrubbing.) Nice bunch of boys.

Tandy: You mean to tell me that you control every action on earth by means of that monitor over there? Every sneeze, every headache, every time a guy cuts himself? How can you possibly do so much?

P. R. Attendant: I go very fast. You got to move like crazy. You can’t stop and talk to every schmuck who comes along. . ..

(The same attendant, GOTTLIEB, who had appeared before comes in carrying a sandwich on a plate. He now wears a different waiter’s jacket.)

Gottlieb: Your BLT down. (Places it on a shelf on U. alcove wall.)

P. R. Attendant: Thank you. What do I owe you for that? (Takes bucket and moves to sink.)

Gottlieb: Are you kidding, sire?

P. R. Attendant: (Washing hands.) Just thought I’d ask. You don’t have to get snotty about it. (GOTTLIEB goes off.)

Tandy: (Moving C.) I don’t know. It’s awfully hard to accept. I’ve heard of having your faith tested, but this is ridiculous.

P. R. Attendant: (Sitting on edge of sink, takes out gum and sticks it on bracelet he is wearing.) And who told you you could speak while I was eating?

Tandy: All right. I’m sorry. I beg your pardon. One minute you’re casual, the next you’re formal. How can I keep up with you?

P. R. Attendant: (Takes piece of sandwich.) Changeable, mysterious, infinite, unfathomable. That’s my style. . ..

Tandy: Yeah—except that you’re not God.

P. R. Attendant: (Puts sandwich back on shelf.) That’s the conclusion you reached after all the time I spent with you? I’ll tell you right now you’re getting me roped off. I get roped off, watch out. Then you’re really in trouble. (Takes cards from shelf above sink.) All right. I’ll tell you what. You say I’m not God, right?

Tandy: Right.

P. R. Attendant: (Spreads cards like fan, crosses to TANDY.) All right. Pick- a card, any card.

Tandy: What’s that gonna prove?

P. R. Attendant: Go ahead, just do what I’m tellin’ you. You’ll see. (TANDY picks a card. MEREDITH sits on D. R. of R. pillar.) You look at it?

Tandy: Yes.

P. R. Attendant: (Crossing R.) Okay. . . you got the. . . King of Hearts. . . . Right?

Tandy: All right. You did it. So what?

P. R. Attendant: So there y’are.

Tandy: There I am what? You do a simple card trick that any kid can do—a retarded kid can do—and I’m supposed to think you’re God.

P. R. Attendant: Can you do it?

Tandy: No, I can’t do it. I can’t even deal a hand of blackjack. But there are hundreds of guys who can do that trick. In every village and hamlet in the country. What the hell does that prove?

P. R. Attendant: (Taking card from TANDY.) Not in the hamlets. It’s not that easy. In the villages, maybe, but not in the hamlets. (Crosses back R. to wall.) All right, I show you a trick that’s not as easy as it seems, you won’t buy it. Fair enough. You’re pushing me to the wall. I’m not saying a word. (Gives cards to MEREDITH, moves back to TANDY.) Now, check my pants. (Holds out the waist of his pants. TANDY reaches out to him.) And easy on the corporeal contact. (TANDY begrudgingly does so.) Anything in there?

Tandy: There’s nothing in there.

P. R. Attendant: (Turns U., reaches into the fly of his pants.) Now. . . (With a flourish, pulls out a long, multicolored scarf.) How’s that?

Tandy: I’ve seen it about a dozen times.

P. R. Attendant: Where? (Sits D. L. of MEREDITH, gives her scarf which she puts around her neck.)

Tandy: On the Sullivan Show. These Slavic guys come over here and do that trick. On a bicycle. Someone tells them they can come over here and clean up. Sullivan’s the only one who’ll give them a break. They make a few bucks, you never hear from them again. They go right back to those Slavic countries. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know quite how to say this, but you are not even putting a dent in me. What kind of second-rate horseshit is this?

P. R. Attendant: (Expressing great pain.) You hurt my feelings just now, you know that, don’t you?

Tandy: There’s a perfect example. God with His feelings hurt. Ridiculous.

P. R. Attendant: My feelings are not supposed to get hurt? Once in a while? All right. Now I’m really going to give you one. (Calling.) Gottlieb. (GOTTLIEB runs out with a footlocker kept shut by a huge padlock. Sets it down, D. C., then turns it so that the lock is U.) Thanks, Gottlieb, I won’t forget this. (To TANDY.) All right. Check the lock.

Tandy: (Following instructions, leaving lock open and rehanging it so that the P. R. ATTENDANT can remove it with his teeth.) I checked it.

P. R. Attendant. Is it strong?

Tandy: Very strong, very powerful. Big deal.

P. R. Attendant: All right. Observez-vous. (All move D. to watch. GOTTLIEB takes out a piece of rope and ties the P. R. ’s hands behind him. The P. R. kneels down and with his teeth, sawing away like a bulldog, chews on the lock. GOTTLIEB backs him by singing and tap dancing an uptempo number, and throwing paper streamers into the air. Finally, with the lock in his teeth, the P. R. rises and accepts their applause. He drops the lock onto the trunk.) Voilà!

Tandy: It was okay, I admit. It was a little better than the others. At least you’re showing me a little something. (GOTTLIEB unties the P. R.’s hands. The P. R. throws the lock to the OLDTIMER, R. of the shower.) Look, I don’t know how to get this across to you, but you are not reaching me with this stuff. Maybe I’m crazy. Are you people impressed?

Oldtimer: Only one fella I know could do that, fella named Radio. Sneaky little bugger. Ran into him in New Guinea. Used to go crazy when he saw a radio. If you were carrying one he’d figure out a way to get it. Old Radio could have picked that footlocker with his teeth. No question about it.

(Note: During this scene a mist or fog has begun to slowly seep over the stage. It builds up till the climax of act, by which time it pervades but does not obscure the stage.)

P. R. Attendant: (Sitting on the D. L. of the R. pillar, next to MEREDITH.) There y’are. You heard what the man said. Only one other fellow could’ve pulled off that stunt. Radio.

Tandy: (Stage L.) Wonderful. Look, I can’t help it. Sue me. I’m not moved. If you had made one interesting intellectual assault on my mind, maybe that would do it.

P. R. Attendant: (Playing with cards.) De gustibus non disputandum.

Tandy: That’s it? That’s the intellectual assault? Freshman English?

P. R. Attendant: Have you ever really pondered it? Savored it? Rolled it around on your tongue and really tasted of its fruit?

Tandy: That’s right. I have. And it’s nothing. It’s garbage. It’s not the kind of insight to make the senses reel.

P. R. Attendant: (Standing on bottom tier, leaning back with arms on the top level.) Consider the mind, an independent substance implanted within the soul and incapable of being destroyed. . .. The City of Satan, whatever its artifices in art, war, or philosophy, was essentially corrupt and impious, its joy but a comic mask and its beauty the whitening of a sepulchre. It stood condemned before man’s better conscience by its vanity, cruelty and secret misery, by its ignorance of all that it truly behooved a man to know who was destined to immortality. . . . (MEREDITH moves R.) Or how about “A little philosophy inclineth man’s mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men’s minds about to religion.”

Tandy: (Stage L.) Much better. Maybe I could even chew on some of that. But you still haven’t got me. All I see so far is a fairly interesting guy. For a Puerto Rican. If I ran into you at a bar—a Puerto Rican bar—maybe we could kick around a few ideas. All I’m saying is I don’t see God yet. Where’s God?

P. R. Attendant: You don’t see God, huh? Boy, you’re some pistol. Alright, here comes a little number that is going to make your head swim. You happen to be in luck, fella, because you caught me at cocktail time and I’m dry as a bone. Gottlieb . . . Now you watch this carefully . . . (GOTTLIEB enters with a tray of drinks. The BROKER takes a stool from the L. of the R. pillar and places it C. stage. The P. R. sits and takes the tray.) How many drinks you estimate are on that tray?

Tandy: Ten . . . (P. R. ATTENDANT begins to knock them off, one at a time. TANDY crosses R.) . . . and you don’t even have to bother drinking them because I can name you two lushes out there on Eighth Avenue who can do the same thing. . .. I mean, what is this? . . . It’s not even as good as the trunk. You might have snapped off a few teeth on that one . . . but this cheap, trivial, broken-down, ninth-rate . . . (As he speaks, GOTTLIEB drags from behind the L. pillar an enormous whiskey sour, one that towers above TANDY’s head. TANDY is speechless. Struggling, GOTTLIEB brings it D.) Are you mad? (He moves R.)

P. R. Attendant: (Giving tray with remaining drinks to the BROKER, who places it on the U. bench.) Uno momento. (Leaps to top tier of the R. column, sits opposite rim of glass, and takes hold of the straw.) This is going to be delicious. That son of a bitch mixes some drink. (All the OTHERS move in to watch. As the P. R. ATTENDANT begins to sip, GOTTLIEB, standing L. of the drink, reaches behind the glass and pulls a cord which allows the liquid to drain from the glass into the empty base on which the glass sits. The P. R. ATTENDANT drains the glass and bursts with satisfaction.) Right, what have you got to say to that, baby? (Pulling a huge cherry from the glass.) Incidentally, you like the cherry, go ahead, don’t be embarrassed. . ..

The TWO YOUNG MEN help GOTTLIEB push the huge drink back U. of one L. pillar.)

Tandy: (D. of R. pillar.) It was pretty good. All right. I take that back. Fair is fair. It was great. My hat goes off to you. It was really remarkable. I figure the odds were about fifty to one against. I hardly know how to say this next thing, but I’m still not buying it. The God routine.

P. R. Attendant: You don’t buy it?

Tandy: No, sir. The fact that I just said “sir” will give you an indication that I’m really impressed. You got a lot going for you. But I’m not really there yet. If I said I was, I’d just be kidding. It would be an injustice of a kind. A real sell-out.

P. R. Attendant: So you still don’t buy it?

Tandy: No, sir.

P. R. Attendant: You really making me work, boy. (Jumps down from the pillar.) All right. I have but one choice, my son. (Gestures.) Shazam . . .

(There is a crash of thunder and the lights fade to darkness. The stage and theater suddenly fill with deafening organ music, churchlike, ancient, soaring, almost unbearable. In the darkness, GOTTLIEB unhooks the ladder from the R. pillar and puts it on the lower tier and with BIEBERMAN and one of the TWO YOUNG MEN pushes the pillar U., MEREDITH following. The P. R. ATTENDANT moves U. C., while the other YOUNG MAN, the BROKER and the OLDTIMER move to the L. pillar. First a beam of light is projected into the house from the extreme D. L. Then from the extreme D. R., a dazzling pattern of light is projected throughout the house. U. C., the figure of the P. R. ATTENDANT is outlined in multicolored shafts of light projected from U. C. through the back wall. All but TANDY are discovered kneeling with head bowed in reverential poses on or at the pillars. The voice of the P. R. ATTENDANT, greatly magnified, booms out.)

P. R. Attendant’s Voice:

Ascribe unto the Lord,
Ye kindreds of the peoples . . .
Ascribe unto the Lord
Glory and strength. . . .
Ascribe unto the Lord
The glory due unto his name.
Bring an offering
And come unto his courts.
Oh, worship the Lord
In the beauty of holiness.
Tremble before him,
All the earth. . . .

(TANDY looks around, observes that he is the only one standing. He shrugs, goes to one knee, surrounded by a circle of blue light. There is a final crash of music, the lights fade as the curtain descends.)

 

CURTAIN

 

At Rise: A darkened stage. There is the sound of a television set, the voices of the TWO YOUNG MEN singing, and someone jumping rope. After a moment, the lights gradually come up, cutting through the clouds of steam. TANDY is slumped D. on the lower tier of the R. pillar with BIEBERMAN sitting on the level above him. BIEBERMAN is watching a small, portable TV set. The TWO YOUNG MEN stand by the L. pillar, undoing and folding two pieces of tie-dyed material, while the OLDTIMER is stretched out on the lower L. tier of the L. pillar. The BROKER is jumping rope C.

Broker: (To TANDY) You ought to try this. . .. Really gets the weight off you. . .. Look in the mirror sometime while you’re doing it. (The TWO YOUNG MEN hang the unknotted fabric on the pillar L., and cross to the bench U. and sit.) Everything moves. The stuff way inside—where you have the real weight—that moving, too. . .. (Stops jumping.) How much do you weigh?

Tandy: Me? Around 155. . . 160. . . somewhere in there.

Broker: I’m 179 myself. I’d like to lose around ten, twelve pounds. Twelve pounds I’d feel like a tiger. (Grabbing some flesh about his waist.) I got to lose it around here—that’s where it’s rough . . . ’specially when you get round my age.

Tandy: That’s right.

Broker: One hundred sixty-eight. That’s my perfect weight. You should see me at 168. Never seen anything like it.

Tandy: I bet you look great.

Broker: I do. I get up in the middle, high seventies, forget it. It’s all gone. . .. You want to hear something else . . . ?

Tandy: Shoot.

Broker: When I’m 168, I get a beautiful bowel movement. . .. How about you? You pretty regular?

Tandy: (Cutting in.) I don’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but I’m really not that interested in your bowel movements. . ..

Broker: I can see that. . .. Sorry if I was presumptuous. . ..

Tandy: Perfectly all right. . ..

Broker: I once bought a stock at 168—my exact weight. . .. Fellow who recommended it said this is a stock you don’t worry about. It goes off, for argument’s sake, ten, twenty, fifty points, I don’t care if it goes off a hundred points . . . you don’t worry about this stock. So I hold it. And it does go off ten, twenty, over a hundred points. The stock is now selling at a fast ten points. So I call the guy. “It’s down to ten,” I say. “When do I start worrying?” “Never,” he says. He just wasn’t a worrier. I lost every penny. . .. Shows you . . . go trust people. . .. I should’ve stuck to ferns.

Tandy: Ferns?

Broker: That’s right. I was in the fern game for a while. A lot of people go in for ferns, you’d be surprised. I was cleaning up. But I couldn’t take the social pressure. . .. Guy at a party’d ask me what do you do, I’d say I’m in ferns. How do you think that made me feel? I had to get out. (Moves U. to L. pillar, takes a miniature whiskey bottle from the top, R. tier, drinks and sits on the lower slab.)

Oldtimer: (Sitting up.) Turn off that TV set. . ..

Bieberman: (R. of top tier, R. pillar.) I’m watching a wonderful movie. And it’s down very low.

Oldtimer: Turn it off, I tell you. I’m trying to catch a. quick snooze. Turn it off or I’ll come up there and kick you in the bazanzas. . .

Bieberman: What are they?

Oldtimer: Never mind. You’ll find out fast enough if I kick you there.

Bieberman: Anti-Semite.

Oldtimer: (Rises, moves to R. pillar.) I’m an anti-stinkite. That’s what you got to worry about. Now turn it off, I tell you. . ..

Bieberman: (Always a little bitter, angry when he speaks, spitting the words out deliberately.) I suppose it never occurred to you that every smile, every whisper, every puff of a cigarette taken by my generation was inspired by the forties’ movie. That my generation wouldn’t know how to mix a drink, drive a car, kiss a girl, straighten a tie—if it weren’t for Linda Darnell and George Brent. . .. That the sole reason for my generation’s awkward floundering in the darkness is that Zachary Scott is gone . . . and I assure you that Dennis Hopper is no substitute.

Oldtimer: I’ll tell you what your generation needs. A movie that instructs you on how to smell like a human being. You can star in it. Now turn that goddam thing off. (TANDY has crossed U. between them and circled around the R. pillar.) How can you even see the screen with all this steam?

Bieberman: When it gets too dense I smear it off with a corner of my jockey shorts.

Oldtimer: (Moving back to L. pillar.) I spent four years in the Philippines. I never seen a slob like him. (Sits.)

Tandy: (Sitting D., lower tier of R. pillar.) C’mon, you guys.

Arguing about TV. That’s ridiculous. You’re supposed to be dead. Act like it.

 

(BIEBERMAN shuts off the set and moves U. of the pillar.)

Meredith: (Entering from U., carrying two paper coffee cups and a handbag with knitting. Puts one cup down by TANDY, and sits on stool D. of shower.) It’s wonderful the way they listen to you.

Tandy: It’s probably that time I spent with the cops. It really changes you. Even when you’re in the art department. One day they invited me on an assault case and these two detectives, kidding around, threw me out on a fire escape with this huge, maddened transvestite. Anyway we’re on the 35th floor, we start grappling with each other, and I figure it’s either me or it. So I bit him in the ear. Well, it must have turned him on because all of a sudden he confesses that he electrocuted a hippie in Vermont. Well, I told him I was kidding around, I wasn’t a real dick, but he just kept confessing and I kept biting and finally they hauled us both back through the window and booked him on the Vermont thing. And me on a morals charge—(Getting up.) I’m just kidding. . .. I finally had to get out ot the cops, it was a terrible place . . . there was one thing—you could always run up a tab at the Automat.

(MEREDITH has put cup on floor D. of stool and taken out knitting.)

Meredith: (Rises, runs R.) Oh, my God!

Tandy: What’s wrong?

Meredith: I just remembered. I haven’t paid my Bloomingdale’s bill.

Tandy: When was it due?

Meredith: (Moving to TANDY.) Last Monday . . . now they’ll probably send me one of those thin gray envelopes. . .. You have no idea how much I hate those envelopes.

Tandy: But it’s ridiculous. You can’t pay your bills now. The store will understand.

Meredith: Bloomingdale’s! I don’t know why they insist on making you feel so terrible. Any other store—Saks, Bendel’s—if you don’t pay your bill they assume you’re in Acapulco.

Not Bloomingdale’s. Right for the throat. “In ten days if you have not paid your bill, we are cutting off your charge account and telling your parents, friends and the principal of the first school you attended . . .”

Tandy: Look, obviously none of this has sunk in. We’re in big trouble. We could be stuck in this lousy steambath forever. You’re sitting around talking Bloomingdale’s. You saw that Puerto Rican guy. . .. He wasn’t kidding around.

Meredith: That was fun.

Tandy: What do you mean?

Meredith: The part where we got down on our knees. We used to do that at Marymount every morning, first thing, and it was freezing. It was fun getting down on a nice warm floor for a change.

Tandy: It wasn’t any fun for me. I got to get out of here. (Moving L., he kicks the cup, then circles above shower to the L. of the R. pillar. MEREDITH follows him and then sits on the stool L. of the shower.) I got all this Charlemagne research to do. There’s going to be a whole Charlemagne revival, I can tell. Books, movies, musical comedies. Dolls—that’s right. Little Charlemagne dolls. Where is that guy? I want another crack at him. (Exits up R.)

Bieberman: (Appears L. of upper tier.) Anyone have some pimple lotion?

Oldtimer: There he goes again, the cocksucker.

Bieberman: Well, can I control my complexion, can I?

Oldtimer: (Moving to R. pillar.) Of course you can. Ever hear of cutting down on malteds?

Bieberman: I’ll never cut down on malteds, never.

Oldtimer: Well, then, don’t come to me with your pimples, you stupid bastard. (Moves back to L. pillar.)

Bieberman: Malteds are the marijuana of my generation.

Oldtimer: Your generation—what the hell generation is that? (Sits, D.)

Bieberman: It went by very quickly. . .. It was Dolf Camilli, Dane Clark, Uncle Don, Ducky Medwick and out. . ..

Oldtimer: Sounds like a real bunch of winners.

Bieberman: (Getting up.) We produced Norman Podhoretz.

Oldtimer: Congratulations. . .. (To the BROKER.) Who the fuck is Norman Podhoretz?

Broker: (sitting R. of L. pillar.) Probably some wealthy bastard who made it when you could keep it.

Tandy: (Entering U. R., moves D. to C.) We’re all set.

Meredith: (Crossing to him.) What’s up?

Tandy: (Showing her.) I’ve got a whole bunch of carpet tacks.

Meredith: Wow. Where did you get them?

Tandy: (Moving R.) They got an old carpet rolled up back there.

Meredith: (Following him.) What good’ll they do?

Tandy: Plenty. Don’t undersell them. I once saw a guy with only a handful of carpet tacks get the best of two armed cops.

Meredith: That’s remarkable, overpowering two policemen that way.

Tandy: That’s right. Where is that guy? (Both sit D. of R. pillar.) Listen, we get out, I’d like you to see my apartment. I’ve got big steel bars on the windows—I had a few robberies—but I’ve got the bars painted in psychedelic colors.

Meredith: I’d love to see your apartment.

Tandy: I’m very proud of it. I’ve got huge double security locks. They’re in psychedelic colors too. Burglar alarm, same deal. It’s not a horny thing. I won’t jump on you or anything.

Meredith: Oh, I know that.

Tandy: Well, as a matter of fact, it is a partially horny thing. You’re a very good-looking girl. . . but I’m also proud of the apartment.

Meredith: Don’t you have a girl friend?

Tandy: Oh yes, I’ve got an ex-wife, a mistress, a mother. . . I’m covered on all sides. Now I just need a girl.

Meredith: I understand. You just want someone totally uncomplicated.

Tandy: That’s right.

Meredith: It’s only fair to tell you that I can only sleep with one man at a time. If I slept with you I might reach out in the middle of the night and think I was caressing Ramondo.

Tandy: Ramondo. . .? Don’t worry about it. Listen, you and your roommate don’t . . . I mean. . . together.

Meredith: Make scenes?. . . Oh no. . . we don’t do that.

Tandy: I hope you don’t take offense. . . I was just checking.

Meredith: We don’t anymore, that is. We did take a mescaline trip recently with one of my stockbroker friends. It didn’t work out. It turned into a sort of business trip.

Oldtimer: Toughest sonofabitch I ever knew used to dress up like Carmen Miranda. They found him floating five kilometers outside Hamburg Harbor. . . all those bananas bobbing in the water.

(P.R. ATTENDANT comes in with GOTTLIEB, who has a candy salesman tray slung around his neck.)

P.R. Attendant: OK, everybody. Let’s go! Campfire time. Gottlieb, hand out those Mounds bars.

(The OTHERS gather around GOTTLIEB, U. C. as he passes out the candy. TANDY motions for the P.R. ATTENDANT to join him D.R.)

Tandy: Listen, I want to talk to you about getting out of here. I got a lot of deals going on the outside, a lot of things to clear up. I don’t know if you know anything about Charlemagne. . .

P. R. Attendant: The Puerto Rican?

Tandy: Cute. Listen, I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I want you to know that was very impressive stuff you did, drinking all that stuff, those lights. . . very good. . ..

P.R. Attendant: I saw you on your knees.

Tandy: One knee. I just went down on one knee. . .. Maybe that’s half-assed, I don’t know. Maybe a straight solid guy—a Henry Cabot Lodge—would have either given you both knees or said the hell with it. . . I don’t know. I figured you run the place I’ll throw you one knee. A little respect. Meanwhile, I got to talk to you about getting out of here. I don’t belong here, I don’t need this.

P.R. Attendant: You know what I don’t need. Right now. Aggravation.

Tandy: There’s another hot one. God, aggravated.

P.R. Attendant: Listen, if you’re God, the name of the game is aggravation. Anyway, I don’t want to hear any more. You say another word, baby, I’ll become wrathful and vengeance-seeking.

 

 

The following is the monologue created from the previous scenes.

 

P.R. ATTENDANT (to TANDY), age 30 to 50.
pp. 25–42 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

You addressing I? Some people call me that. God! The Puerto Ricans go back hundreds of years. Millions. There were Puerto Ricans in Greece, Rome. Diogenes—very big, very strong Puerto Rican. Too many people make fun of the Puerto Ricans. Very fine people. Lot of class. We got José Torres, Mario Procaccino . . . Look, I’ll tell you what, fella. You say I’m not God. All right. You got it. I’m not God. Fabulous. You got what you want. Mister, just don’t bug me. All right? I got a lot on my mind. . .. I talk any way I want, man. The Lord speaks in funny ways. Remember that. You want to discuss the relativity of mass, the Lorentz Transformation, galactic intelligence, I’ll give you that, too. Just don’t bug me. All right? Don’t be no wise ass. The way I talk, don’t you see that’s just a little blink of an eye in terms of the universe, the job I got to do? The diameter of an electron is one ten-trillionth of an inch. And you’re telling me I shouldn’t talk dirty. Let me talk the way I want. Let me relax a little.

(To a console lit up.) All right, give that girl on the bus a run on her body stocking. And close up that branch of Schraffts . . . and send up a bacon-and-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich, hold the mayo. You burn the toast, I’ll smite you down with my terrible swift sword. Cancel Laugh-In. (TO TANDY.) There’s Laugh-In. You still want to fool around? I go very fast. You got to move like crazy. You can’t stop and talk to every schmuck who comes along . . . and who told you you could speak while I was eating? Changeable, mysterious, infinite, unfathomable. That’s my style. . .. I’ll tell you right now you’re getting me roped off. I get roped off, watch out. Then you’re really in trouble. (Monologue is picked up on page 42.) You know what I don’t need? Right now? Aggravation. Listen, if you’re God, the name of the game is aggravation. Anyway, I don’t want to hear any more. You say another word, baby, I’ll become wrathful and vengeance seeking.

This is a good monologue to use when you are auditioning for a comedy where an Hispanic accent is required or desired. You are God and you’re having a hard time getting people to believe in you. The person to whom you are talking has ridiculed your ethnicity and the way you talk. You must communicate to him that you are indeed God and have every right to be just as you are. You are very hurt and, therefore, angry with him. Make him understand the truth. You need him on your side. He is a very special person who indeed doubts. You must decide the details regarding the importance of this person to you and why today is the most important day in your life. You’ve taken him away from earth. Do you feel just a little bit guilty about doing that to him? What is it about him that made you bring him here now while he is still young? Why do you need him here with you?

Don’t fall into the trap and play off the pages only. Create your play, which will deal with your inner needs.

 

 

 

pp. 54-59 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

Tandy: (Moving D. R. to C.) Anyway, you get the idea. I’ve gotten my whole life on the right track for the first time. I don’t hate Wendy. I’m doing this wonderful work for brain-damaged welders. You ask the welders what they think of me. And I’ve got a marvelous new girl who’s got this surprising body. You look at her face you just don’t expect all that voluptuousness. You say to yourself, she’s a little girl, a quiet little girl, comes from a nice family, where did these tits come from.

P.R. Attendant: Hey, hey, there’s a lady. . .

Meredith: Oh, that’s all right. I don’t mind tits. Knockers is the one I don’t care for.

Tandy: All right, excuse me, but do you get the idea? I got everything bad swept out of the room. I’m closer than ever to my 10-year-old daughter. That trip to Vegas really brought us together. I’m doing work that I love. Warner Brothers saw the first hundred pages of my Charlemagne book and I understand they like it for Steve McQueen . . .

P.R. Attendant: Twentieth is going to buy it . . . for Charlton Heston . . .

Tandy: Then you admit . . . you admit I’m getting out of here.

P.R. Attendant: They’re going to buy it from your estate . . .

(MEREDITH and GOTTLIEB move to the R. pillar and sit D. tier. They try to unravel some yarn from MEREDITH’S handbag. The P.R. ATTENDANT takes a piece of fruit from shelf above the sink, sits back down and begins to peel it with knife from pocket.)

Tandy: (Moving to him.) Look, I’m all clean and straight and honest. I got rid of all the garbage. Any crooked lines, I erased them and drew them straight. . .. I don’t hate anybody. I love a lot of people. I’m at the goddamned starting line. I’m ready to breathe clean air. I tore myself inside out to get to where I am—and I’m not taking up anybody’s space. I’m ready to cook a little. Swing. What kind of fellow is that to snuff out?

P.R. Attendant: A good fellow. But I’m snuffing him out anyway.

Tandy: Where’s your compassion?

P.R. Attendant: I do plenty of good things. Half the things I do are good, maybe even a little more, that’s right, maybe even a little more. Nobody notices them. I never get any credit, but I do plenty of good things. I make trees, forests, soccer fields. I let hernias get better. . ..

Tandy: But you’ll wipe out a guy like me . . . and a lovely blond girl like that.

Meredith: (L. of GOTTLIEB, turns to TANDY.) Oh, listen, the blond part shouldn’t enter into it, I can see that.

P.R. Attendant: (Rising.) I let you go, I got to let the next guy go. Pretty soon nobody’s dead. You’d have people coming out of your ears. Have you seen Istanbul lately? Downtown Istanbul? Los Angeles?

Meredith: I’d never live in L.A. I don’t think there’s one sincere person in the whole city.

P.R. Attendant: (Sitting back down.) Let me ask you something. (TANDY sits on stool R. of him.) While you were doing all those things, unloading your old lady, you know, straightening out your head, how did you feel?

Tandy: Good. Excited . . . it was like being in a whirlpool bath. An emotional whirlpool bath. It even made my body feel good; it got springy and toughened up. (Rises.)

P.R. Attendant: (Dumps peels in newspaper in basket.) There y’are. You felt good, you had a whirlpool bath . . . a springy body. . . need I say more?

Tandy: You don’t understand something. I probably never made it clear. This is very important to me. We’re talking about my life. I’m not asking you for seats to a hockey game.

P.R. Attendant: (Mocking.) It’s very important to him. Nobody else is alive.

Tandy: Is there anything I can do for you?

P.R. Attendant: You got to be kidding. You do something for me? What in the world would God want?

Tandy: A sacrifice . . . burnt offerings . . . a little lox.

P.R. Attendant: I got no time to fool around. I got to make room for the next bunch coming in here. (Takes basket to R. pillar, begins to collect towels, moves above pillar.)

Tandy: That’s it? You’re going through with this? Well, I’ll tell you right now, if you’re capable of wiping out a once-confused fellow who’s now a completely straight and sweet guy, then I got no choice but to call you a prick. (To MEREDITH.) I’m sorry.

Meredith: Oh, that’s alright. I don’t mind prick. Pecker is the one I don’t care for.

P.R. Attendant: (Astonished, moves down, R. of pillar.) God? . . . Did I hear you correctly? . . . Can I believe my ears? . . . Blasphemy?

Tandy: (At L. wall.) That’s right. If you’re capable of doing something like that. Taking a guy to the very threshold of marvelous things, teasing him along and then acing him out just when he’s ready to scoop up one lousy drop of gravy-that is bad news, I’m sorry. . .

P.R. Attendant: That’s bad, boy, that is low. Wowee. Nobody ever called me that before. That’s what I call sinning, baby. You’re in real trouble now. You have put your foot in it this time, fella. . .. You going to stick to what you called me? . . . that dirty name? . . . talking that way to God?

Tandy: (Interrupting.) Yeah, I’m going to stick to it . . . and you know why. . . because when I was in that Chinese restaurant . . . and I lost my breath, and I had no feelings, and I was numb and white, as white as a piece of typing paper, and I said over and over and over I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die . . . and told you, in my way, how much I treasured every drop of life—you weren’t impressed, you didn’t hear a whisper of it.

P.R. Attendant: That right, Gottlieb? Did he do that? (GOTTLIEB nods.)

Tandy: (Moving to C.) I thought you knew everything.

P.R. Attendant: Almost everything. Once in a while there’s an administrative error. Anyway, I did hear you. You came over a little weak, a little static thrown in there, but I heard you. That’s why you’re here. Otherwise . . . (Pointing to stage L. door.) . . . you’d have gone straight in there. . ..

Tandy: Then not everybody comes here. . ..

P.R. Attendant: Neurotics, freaks . . . (Contemptuously.) . . . those with stories to tell.

Tandy: How was mine?

P.R. Attendant: Not bad. I heard worse.

Tandy: You were touched. . .. You just won’t admit it. (Advances, threateningly.) Now let me out of here.

P.R. Attendant: You come near me, I’ll send you back with cancer, then you’ll know real trouble.

(TANDY grabs GOTTLIEB, who has moved D. to pick up the cups and a stool D. L. Grabbing him from behind, he holds GOTTLIEB around the neck, threatening him with his other hand. GOTTLIEB drops the cups and stool and they fall to the floor.)

Tandy: All right, talk, and be quick about it. Otherwise, you get these carpeting tacks right in your face. How do we get out?

P.R. Attendant: You talk, Gottlieb, and I’ll see to it that you never work again. What can he do with a lousy bunch of carpeting tacks?

Gottlieb: I don’t know. But I’m not taking any chances. . .. Get a mirror.

Meredith: (Taking a compact from her bag.) I’ve got one here.

Gottlieb: Shine it in his face. He can’t stand that. (She hesitates, then does.)

P.R. Attendant: (On the floor, cowering against the R. wall.) Take that away. I don’t want to see myself. I’m a homely guy, with pockmarks.

Tandy: (Releasing GOTTLIEB.) Wait a minute. . .. Leave him alone. . .. I can’t go through with this. (GOTTLIEB scrambles to the R. pillar, hides L. side.)

P.R. Attendant: (Gets himself together—then, as though feelings are really hurt.) Et tu, Gottlieb . . .

Meredith: (Terrified, runs to door L. Hesitates.) Au revoir, Mr. Tandy. Did I do alright with the mirror?

Tandy: (Having slowly gotten up.) You did fine, kid.

(MEREDITH turns and goes through the door. GOTTLIEB exits U.)

P.R. Attendant: (TO TANDY. Rights the stool, picks up the cups.) You couldn’t stand that, right, to see God get wiped out? . . . It gave you a funny feeling.

Tandy: I don’t like to see anybody get wiped out. . .. I’m notorious for breaking up fights. . .. I once threw a guy through the window of a furniture store because somebody was picking on him and I thought he was going to get hurt. . ..

P.R. Attendant: (Standing on lower R. tier of R. pillar, facing TANDY.) You got a lot of nice qualities. . .. Too bad I’m filled up, I’d let you work around here for a while. . .. Listen, what are you giving yourself such a hard time for? . . . Suppose, for a second, I let you out of here. . .. What would you do?

Tandy: What would I do? . . . Are you kidding? . . . What is this, a put-on? . . . You didn’t hear me go on about my new life? My new style? The exciting world that’s out there waiting for me? . . . This terrific new quiet girl friend who practically brings me the newspaper in her teeth—who watches me like a hawk for the slightest sign of sexual tension—and then whop—she’s in there like a shot to drain it off and make me feel comfortable again. . .. And if I feel like going out at four in the morning to get some eggs—she’s right there at my side—because she comes from a tradition where the man is like a gypsy king and the woman is someone who drags mutton to him on her back, all the way up a hill. And all she ever hopes for is that he’ll throw her a lousy mutton bone while she’s sleeping in the dirt at his feet. . .. And this is an intelligent girl, too, a Bryn Mawr girl. . .. When I’m alone with her. . .

P.R. Attendant: (Sits lower D. tier of R. pillar.) You like this girl?

Tandy: Like her? . . . Oh, I see what you mean. . .. Yeah . . . if I’m so crazy about her, how come I’m constantly chasing chicks all over the place? (Sits on stool L. of pool.) . . . All right, I’ll admit to you that she’s a little on the quiet side—that sometimes all that quiet drives me nuts. . .. All right, let’s face it, she’s basically a dull girl. Terrific kid, loyal, faithful, brings you mutton, but the sparks don’t fly. . .. And it did cross my mind that maybe I’ll find another girl who’s got a little more pazazz. . .. I’ll give you that.

 

The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.

 

TANDY (to P.R. ATTENDANT), age 30 to 50.
pp. 54–59 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)

I’ve gotten my whole life on the right track for the first time. I don’t hate Wendy. I’m doing this wonderful work for brain-damaged welders. You ask the welders what they think of me. And I’ve got a marvelous new girl who’s got this surprising body. You look at her face you just don’t expect all that voluptuousness. You say to yourself, she’s a little girl, a quiet little girl, comes from a nice family, where did these tits come from.

I got everything bad swept out of the room. I’m closer than ever to my ten-year-old daughter. That trip to Vegas really brought us together. I’m doing work that I love. Warner Brothers saw the first hundred pages of my Charlemagne book and I understand they like it for Steve McQueen. Look, I’m all clean and straight and honest. I got rid of all the garbage. Any crooked lines, I erased them and drew them straight. I don’t hate anybody. I love a lot of people. I’m at the goddamned starting line. I’m ready to breathe clean air. I tore myself inside out to get to where I am—and I’m not taking up anybody’s space. I’m ready to cook a little. Swing. What kind of fellow is that to snuff out? Where’s your compassion? You’d wipe out a guy like me? You don’t understand something. I probably never made it clear. This is very important to me. We’re talking about my life. I’m not asking you for seats to a hockey game. Is there anything I can do for you? A sacrifice . . . burnt offerings . . . a little lox. That’s it? You’re going through with this? Well, I’ll tell you right now, if you’re capable of wiping out a once-confused fellow who’s now a completely straight and sweet guy then I got no choice but to call you a prick! If you’re capable of doing something like that. Taking a guy to the very threshold of marvelous things, teasing him along and then acing him out just when he’s ready to scoop up one lousy drop of gravy—that is bad news, I’m sorry. When I was in that Chinese restaurant . . . and I lost my breath, and I had no feelings, and I was numb and white, as white as a piece of typing paper, and I said over and over and over I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die . . . and told you, in my way, how much I treasured every drop of life—you weren’t impressed, you didn’t hear a whisper of it!

I don’t like to see anybody get wiped out . . . I’m notorious for breaking up fights . . . I once threw a guy through the window of a furniture store because somebody was picking on him and I thought he was going to get hurt. If you let me out of here there’s an exciting world that’s out there waiting for me. This terrific new quiet girlfriend who practically brings me the newspaper in her teeth—who watches me like a hawk for the slightest sign of sexual tension—and then whop—she in there like a shot to drain it off and make me feel comfortable again . . . and if I feel like going out at four in the morning to get some eggs—she’s right there at my side—because she comes from a tradition where the man is like a gypsy king and the woman is someone who drags mutton to him on her back, all the way up a hill. And all she ever hopes for is that he’ll throw her a lousy mutton bone while she’s sleeping in the dirt at his feet. . .. And this is an intelligent girl, too, a Bryn Mawr girl. . .. If I’m so crazy about her, how come I’m constantly chasing chicks all over the place? All right, I’ll admit to you that she’s a little on the quiet side—that sometimes all that quiet drives me nuts. . .. All right, let’s face it, she’s basically a dull girl. Terrific kid, loyal, faithful, brings you mutton, but the sparks don’t fly. . .. And it did cross my mind that maybe I’ll find another girl who’s got a little more pazazz. . .. I’ll give you that.

The playwright has given you much. It is obvious that it is literally your life you are fighting for. You want it back and the P. R. Attendant is the only one who can give it to you.

Tandy may have his values screwed up. He may be a chauvinist, a sexist, a victim of unresolved chaos and conflicts between him and his mother. He may be lacking a healthy father figure and be totally inappropriate in much of his actions and choices in life but he passionately wants to live and not die. He wants another chance to do a better job as a person. He is in the midst of the one and only who calls the shots. Tandy possesses many character flaws but you must make him likeable, because he is. Communicate his desire and need by exposing vulnerability. You then become one of us—the audience. And for the audition, this means the auditor. Don’t forget the auditor is a person also. I need to feel for you. To root for you. I want to identify with you and find something of myself in you. That is the magic that the actor creates in theaters. That is when you touch the audience.

You don’t start out by thinking of your audience. Even though they have needs and you must fulfill these needs. But they can’t be fulfilled unless you begin with a history of the character leading up to today’s confrontation. Read the entire play and use whatever you choose to use that the playwright has given to you that leads up to the here and now. Be aware as an actor that this is a very funny scene about the sadness of loss of life. Be aware of the absurdities of the actions and words of Tandy. If indeed you do not consider this monologue very funny, ironic, and absurd, please do not even attempt to use it as an audition piece.

Create your reality starting from the day you were born. Make personal choices from your own life. Choices that will add to and complement the playwright’s choices.