pp. 37–40 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Sam: Why do you always start the most serious discussions in our life when I’m halfway out the door?
Karen: If that’s what you want, just tell me straight out. Just say, “Karen, there’s no point in going on.” I’d rather hear it from you personally, than get a message on our service.
Sam: Look, we’ll talk about it when I get back, okay? (He starts out again.)
Karen: (Can no longer contain herself. There is none of that “playful, toying” attitude in her voice now. Jumping up.) No, God dammit, we’ll talk about it now! I’m not going to sit around a hotel room half the night waiting to hear how my life is going to come out . . . If you’ve got something to say, then have the decency to say it before you walk out that door.
(There is a moment’s silence while they try to compose themselves. SAM turns back into the room and closes the door.)
Sam: Is there any coffee left?
Karen: It’s that bad, huh? . . . All right, sit down, I’ll get you some coffee. (She starts to cross to table and stops, looking at her hands. SAM crosses to sofa. Puts down attaché case by coffee table and sits.) Look at this. I’m shaking like a leaf. Pour it yourself. I have a feeling in a few minutes I’m not going to be too crazy about you. (KAREN crosses and sits on ottoman next to sofa, hands clasped together.)
Sam: (He finds it difficult to look at her.) No matter what, Karen, in twenty-three years my feelings for you have never changed. You’re my wife, I still love you.
Karen: Oh, God, am I in trouble.
Sam: It has nothing to do with you. It’s something that just happened . . . It’s true, I am having an affair with her . . . (SAM waits for KAREN to react. She merely sits and looks at her hands.) It’s been going on for about six months now. . . I tried stopping it a few times, it didn’t work . . . After a couple of days I’d start it again . . . And then—well, what’s the point in going on with this? You wanted honesty, I’m giving it to you. I’m having an affair with Jean, that’s all there is to it.
Karen: (Looks up.) Who’s Jean?
Sam: Jean! Miss McCormack.
Karen: Oh. For a minute I thought there were two of them.
Sam: I’m not very good at this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now.
Karen: Don’t worry about it. You’re doing fine. (She gets up and moves to table.) You want that coffee now? I just stopped shaking.
Sam: . . . What are we going to do?
Karen: (Turns back to SAM.) Well, you’re taken care of. You’re having an affair. I’m the one who needs an activity.
Sam: Karen, I’ll do whatever you want.
Karen: Whatever I want?
Sam: I’ll leave. I’ll get out tonight . . . Or I’ll stop seeing her. I’ll get rid of her in the office. I’ll try it any way you want.
Karen: (Moves to sofa.) Oh. Okay. I choose “Stop Seeing Jean” . . . Gee, that was easy. (Snaps her fingers.) Now we can go back to our old normal life and live happily ever after. (Starts to pour coffee, but stops and puts pot down.) It’s not my day. Even the coffee’s cold.
Sam: Oh, come on, Karen, don’t play “Aren’t we civilized?” Call me a bastard. Throw the coffee at me.
Karen: You’re a bastard. You want cream and sugar?
Sam: It’s funny how our attitudes have suddenly changed. What happened to “I think a man of your age should have an affair”?
Karen: It looked good in the window but terrible when I got it home.
Sam: If it’s any solace to you, I never thought it would go this far. I don’t even remember how it started . . .
Karen: Think, it’ll come back to you.
Sam: Do you know she worked for me for two years and I never batted an eye at her?
Karen: Good for you, Sam.
Sam: (Angry.) Oh, come on. (Crosses to bedroom, and stretches out across bed.)
Karen: (She follows him into bedroom.) No, Sam, I want to hear about it. She worked for you for two years and you didn’t know her first name was Jean. And then one night you were both working late and suddenly you let down your hair and took off your glasses and she said, “Why, Mr. Nash, you’re beautiful.”
Sam: (Takes pillow and places it over his head.) That’s it, word for word. You must have been hiding in the closet.
Karen: (Tears the pillow away and throws it back down on bed.) All right, you want to know when I think the exact date your crummy little affair started? I’ll tell you. It was June nineteenth. It was your birthday and you just turned fifty years old. Five oh, count ’em, folks, and you were feeling good and sorry for yourself. Right?
Sam: Oh, God, here comes Doctor Franzblau again.
Karen: And the only reason you picked on Miss McCormack was because she was probably the first one you saw that morning. . . If she was sick that day, this affair very well could have been with your elevator operator.
Sam: Wrong. He’s fifty-two and I don’t go for older men.
Karen: (Breaks away and crosses to living room.) You were right before, Sam. Let’s discuss this later tonight.
Sam: (Sitting up on side of bed.) No, no. We’ve opened this up, let’s bring it all out. I’ve told you the truth, I’m involved with another woman. I’m not proud of it, Karen, but those are the facts. Now what am I supposed to do about it?
Karen: (Moves back to bedroom doorway.) Well, I would suggest committing suicide but I’m afraid you might think I meant me . . . (Goes back to living room.) I have one other suggestion. Forget it.
Sam: (Sharply.) Forget it?
Karen: (Pacing above sofa.) I understand it, Sam. It’s not your fault. But maybe I can live with it until it’s over. What else can I do, Sam? I’m attached to you. So go out, have a good time tonight and when you come home, bring me the Daily News, I’m getting sick of the Post. (Sits on sofa.)
Sam: If I lived with you another twenty-three years, I don’t think I’d ever understand you.
Karen: If that’s a proposition, I accept.
Sam: (Gets up and moves to KAREN.) Dammit, Karen, stop accepting everything in life that’s thrown at you. Fight back once in a while. Don’t understand me. Hate me! I am not going through a middle-aged adjustment. I’m having an affair. A cheating, sneaking, sordid affair.
Karen: If it helps you to romanticize it, Sam, all right. I happen to know better.
Sam: (Crossing above sofa to fireplace.) You don’t know better at all. You didn’t even know I was having an affair.
Karen: I suspected it. You were working three nights a week and we weren’t getting any richer.
Sam: (Leaning on mantlepiece.) I see. And now that you know the truth I have your blessings.
Karen: No, just my permission. I’m your wife, not your mother.
Sam: That’s indecent. I never heard such a thing in my life. For crying out loud, Karen, I’m losing all respect for you.
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
SAM (to KAREN), age 40s to 60s.
pp. 37—40 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Why do you always start the most serious discussions in our life when I’m halfway out the door? . . . No matter what, Karen, in twenty-three years my feelings for you have never changed. You’re my wife, I still love you. It has nothing to do with you. It’s something that just happened. . .. It’s true, I am having an affair with her. . . . It’s been going on for about six months now. . .. I tried stopping it a few times, it didn’t work. . .. After a couple of days I’d start it again . . . and then—well, what’s the point in going on with this? You wanted honesty, I’m giving it to you. I’m having an affair with Jean, that’s all there is to it. I’m not very good at this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now. . . . What are we going to do? Karen, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll leave. I’ll get out tonight . . . or I’ll stop seeing her. I’ll get rid of her in the office. I’ll try it any way you want. If it’s any solace to you, I never thought it would go this far. I don’t even remember how it started. . .. Do you know she worked for me for two years and I never batted an eye at her? I’ve told you the truth, I’m involved with another woman. I’m not proud of it, Karen, but those are the facts. Now what am I supposed to do about it? Forget it?? If I lived with you another twenty-three years, I don’t think I’d ever understand you. Dammit, Karen, stop accepting everything in life that’s thrown at you. Fight back once in a while. Don’t understand me. Hate me! I am not going through a middle-aged adjustment. I’m having an affair. A cheating, sneaking, sordid affair. And now that you know the truth I have your blessings! That’s indecent. I never heard such a thing in my life. For crying out loud, Karen, I’m losing all respect for you!
This man is tormented. A married man having an affair should be tormented! He loves his wife but is not happy with her as the one and only woman in his life. It’s been a very long time that they’ve been together. She is a good woman, a good wife, a good mother, with humor, compassion, intelligence, and love for her husband. So why would a man want to risk losing such a woman who provides everything for his comfort and life? Of course, the problem lies with him, not with her. He is having trouble with getting old. He is the one who needs new thrills with new women. He is the weak one. On the other hand, some would say it is an act of courage to take a risk and, as John Wayne said, “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
You must make very strong choices to love Karen very much. Because whether you know it or not, you do love her but you feel love for the other woman. And what we are talking about is sex. Now when Karen obviously doesn’t fall down the steps screaming and yelling and cursing, you are devastated! This is not the proper response or behavior! You are mortified! You must appreciate the vast humor in this piece to successfully perform it. Irony abounds. You are really fighting for Karen to love you. You make the discovery that she might not love you anymore! That you didn’t count on. That was not in Sam’s script. This is not what he expected at all.
When you read the play, you will see that he leaves her. Do not play that end with this monologue. Do not play that end if you are ever in performance with the entire play until you get to that event. For the purpose of the monologue, play that you want Karen to do everything to keep you here with her and that you actually told her about the affair to once and for all get it out so that she knows and you will have to end the affair. As Sam, you might not even be so aware that this is really what you have in mind. But as actor, please know this.
pp. 38—43 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
Karen: Don’t worry about it. You’re doing fine. (She gets up and moves to table.) You want that coffee now? I just stopped shaking.
Sam: . . . What are we going to do?
Karen: (Turns back to SAM.) Well, you’re taken care of. You’re having an affair. I’m the one who needs an activity.
Sam: Karen, I’ll do whatever you want.
Karen: Whatever I want?
Sam: I’ll leave. I’ll get out tonight . . . Or I’ll stop seeing her. I’ll get rid of her in the office. I’ll try it any way you want.
Karen: (Moves to sofa.) Oh. Okay. I choose “Stop Seeing Jean” . . . Gee, that was easy. (Snaps her fingers.) Now we can go back to our old normal life and live happily ever after. (Starts to pour coffee, but stops and puts pot down.) It’s not my day. Even the coffee’s cold.
Sam: Oh, come on, Karen, don’t play “Aren’t we civilized?” Call me a bastard. Throw the coffee at me.
Karen: You’re a bastard. You want cream and sugar?
Sam: It’s funny how our attitudes have suddenly changed. What happened to “I think a man of your age should have an affair”?
Karen: It looked good in the window but terrible when I got it home.
Sam: If it’s any solace to you, I never thought it would go this far. I don’t even remember how it started. . .
Karen: Think, it’ll come back to you.
Sam: Do you know she worked for me for two years and I never batted an eye at her?
Karen: Good for you, Sam.
Sam: (Angry.) Oh, come on. (Crosses to bedroom, and stretches out across bed.)
Karen: (She follows him into bedroom.) No, Sam, I want to hear about it. She worked for you for two years and you didn’t know her first name was Jean. And then one night you were both working late and suddenly you let down your hair and took off your glasses and she said, “Why, Mr. Nash, you’re beautiful.”
Sam: (Takes pillow and places it over his head.) That’s it, word for word. You must have been hiding in the closet.
Karen: (Tears the pillow away and throws it back down on bed.) All right, you want to know when I think the exact date your crummy little affair started? I’ll tell you. It was June nineteenth. It was your birthday and you just turned fifty years old. Five oh, count ’em, folks, and you were feeling good and sorry for yourself. Right?
Sam: Oh, God, here comes Doctor Franzblau again.
Karen: And the only reason you picked on Miss McCormack was because she was probably the first one you saw that morning . . . If she was sick that day, this affair very well could have been with your elevator operator.
Sam: Wrong. He’s fifty-two and I don’t go for older men.
Karen: (Breaks away and crosses to living room.) You were right before, Sam. Let’s discuss this later tonight.
Sam: (Sitting up on side of bed.) No, no. We’ve opened this up, let’s bring it all out. I’ve told you the truth, I’m involved with another woman. I’m not proud of it, Karen, but those are the facts. Now what am I supposed to do about it?
Karen: (Moves back to bedroom doorway.) Well, I would suggest committing suicide but I’m afraid you might think I meant me . . . (Goes back to living room.) I have one other suggestion. Forget it.
Sam: (Sharply.) Forget it?
Karen: (Pacing above sofa.) I understand it, Sam. It’s not your fault. But maybe I can live with it until it’s over. What else can I do, Sam? I’m attached to you. So go out, have a good time tonight and when you come home, bring me the Daily News, I’m getting sick of the Post. (Sits on sofa.)
Sam: If I lived with you another twenty-three years, I don’t think I’d ever understand you.
Karen: If that’s a proposition, I accept.
Sam: (Gets up and moves to KAREN.) Dammit, Karen, stop accepting everything in life that’s thrown at you. Fight back once in a while. Don’t understand me. Hate me! I am not going through a middle-aged adjustment. I’m having an affair. A cheating, sneaking, sordid affair.
Karen: If it helps you to romanticize it, Sam, all right. I happen to know better.
Sam: (Crossing above sofa to fireplace.) You don’t know better at all. You didn’t even know I was having an affair.
Karen: I suspected it. You were working three nights a week and we weren’t getting any richer.
Sam: (Leaning on mantlepiece.) I see. And now that you know the truth I have your blessings.
Karen: No, just my permission. I’m your wife, not your mother.
Sam: That’s indecent. I never heard such a thing in my life. For crying out loud, Karen, I’m losing all respect for you.
Karen: What’s the matter, Sam, am I robbing you of all those delicious guilt feelings? Will you feel better if I go to pieces and try to lash back at you?
Sam: (Crosses below sofa.) At least I would understand it. It’s normal. I don’t know why you’re not having hysterics and screaming for a lawyer.
Karen: (Getting up to confront him.) All right, Sam, if it’ll make you happier . . . I think you stink. You’re a vain, self-pitying, deceiving, ten-pound box of rancid No-Cal cottage cheese. How’m I doing?
Sam: Swell. Now we’re finally getting somewhere.
Karen: Oh, you like this, don’t you? It makes everything nice and simple for you. Now you can leave here the martyred, misunderstood husband. Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction. I take it back, Sam. (Sits on sofa. Pleasantly, with great control.) You’re a pussycat. I’ll have milk and cookies for you when you get home.
Sam: (Sits on ottoman.) No, no. Finish what you were saying. Get it off your chest, Karen. It’s been building up for twenty-three years. I want to hear everything. Vain, self-pitying, what else? Go on, what else?
Karen: You’re adorable. Eat your heart out.
Sam: (Furious.) Karen, don’t do this to me.
Karen: I’m sorry, I’m a forgiving woman. I can’t help myself.
Sam: (Gets up, takes case and crosses to door.) You’re driving me right out of here, you know that, don’t you?
Karen: There’ll always be room for you in my garage.
Sam: If I walk out this door now, I don’t come back.
Karen: I think you will.
Sam: What makes you so sure?
Karen: You forgot to take your eye drops.
Sam: (He storms to coffee table, snatches up drops and crosses back to door. Stops.) Before I go I just want to say one thing. Whatever you think of me is probably true. No, not probably, definitely. I have been a bastard right from the beginning. I don’t expect you to forgive me.
Karen: But I do.
Sam: (Whirling back to her.) Let me finish. I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I ask you with all conscience, with all your understanding, not to blame Jean for any of this.
Karen: (Collapses on couch. Then pulling herself together.) I’ll send her a nice gift.
Sam: (Puts down case beside sofa.) She’s been torturing herself ever since this started. I’m the one who forced the issue.
Karen: (Moving away from him on sofa, mimics JEAN.) “It didn’t show up on the 1400 but I rechecked it with my own files and made the correction on the 640.” . . . You know as well as I do that’s code for “I’ll meet you at the Picadilly Hotel.”
Sam: (Kneeling beside sofa.) You won’t believe me, will you? That she’s a nice girl.
Karen: Nice for you and nice for me are two different things.
Sam: If it’s that Sunday supplement psychology you’re using, Karen, it’s backfiring because you’re just making it easier for me.
Karen: Well, you like things easy, don’t you? You don’t even have an affair the hard way.
Sam: Meaning what?
Karen: (Getting up.) Meaning you could have at least taken the trouble to look outside your office for a girl. . . (Picks up imaginary phone.) “Miss McCormack, would you please come inside and take an affair!” . . . Honestly, Sam. (Moves above sofa.)
Sam: Karen, don’t force me to say nice things about her to you.
Karen: I can’t help it. I’m just disappointed in you. It’s so damned unoriginal.
Sam: What did you want her to be, a fighter pilot with the Israeli Air Force?
Karen: Everyone cheats with their secretary. I expected more from my husband!
Sam: (Shaking his head.) I never saw you like this. You live with a person your whole life, you don’t really know them.
Karen: (Crossing below sofa to bedroom.) Go on, Sam, go have your affair. You’re fifty-one years old. In an hour it may be too late. (Sits at dresser, and brushes hair.)
Sam: (Getting up and crossing to her in bedroom.) By God, you are something. You are really something special, Karen. Twenty-three years I’m married to you and I still can’t make you out. You don’t look much different than the ordinary woman but I promise you there is nothing walking around on two legs that compares in any way, shape or form to the likes of you.
Karen: (Drops brush and turns to him. Laughing.) So if I’m so special, what are you carrying on with secretaries for?
Sam: I’ll be God-damned if I know. . .
(They look at each other. He turns and starts to front door, taking attaché case.)
Karen: (Following him into living room.) Sam! (SAM stops.) Sam . . . do I still have my two choices? (He turns and looks at her.) Because if I do. . . I choose “Get rid of Miss McCormack.” (He looks away.) I pick “Stay here and work it out with me, Sam.” (KAREN turns her back to him and leans against the arm of the sofa.) Because the other way I think I’m going to lose. Don’t go to the office tonight, Sam . . . Stay with me . . . Please.
Sam: (Leaning on console table, looks at her.) I swear, I wish we could go back the way it was before. A couple of years ago, before there were any problems.
Karen: Maybe we can, Sam. We’ll do what you said before. We’ll lie. We’ll tell each other everything is all right. . . There is nothing wrong in the office tonight, there is no Miss McCormack and I’m twenty-seven God-damned years old . . . What do you say, Sam?
The following is the monologue created from the previous scene.
KAREN (to SAM), age 40s to 60s.
pp. 38—43 (SAMUEL FRENCH, INC.)
You’re doing fine. You’re taken care of. You’re having an affair. I’m the one who needs an activity. If you’ll try it the way I want, I choose “Stop Seeing Jean.” . . . Gee, that was easy. Now we can go back to our old normal life and live happily ever after. . .. I want to hear about it. She worked for you for two years and you didn’t know her first name was Jean. And then one night you were both working late and suddenly you let down your hair and took off your glasses and she said, “Why, Mr. Nash, you’re beautiful.” All right, you want to know when I think the exact date your crummy little affair started? I’ll tell you. It was June nineteenth, It was your birthday and you just turned fifty years old. Five-oh, count ’em, folks, and you were feeling good and sorry for yourself. Right? And the only reason you picked on Miss McCormack was because she was probably the first one you saw that morning. . .. If she was sick that day, this affair very well could have been with your elevator operator. Well, I would suggest committing suicide but I’m afraid you might think I meant me . . . I have one other suggestion. Forget it. I understand it, Sam. It’s not your fault. But maybe I can live with it until it’s over. What else can I do, Sam? I’m attached to you. So go out, have a good time tonight and when you come home, bring me the Daily News, I’m getting sick of the Post. I suspected it. You were working three nights a week and we weren’t getting any richer. What’s the matter, Sam, am I robbing you of all those delicious guilt feelings? Will you feel better if I go to pieces and try to lash back at you? All right, Sam, if it’ll make you happier. . . I think you stink. You’re a vain, self-pitying, deceiving, ten-pound box of rancid No-Cal cottage cheese. How’m I doing? You like this, don’t you? It makes everything nice and simple for you. Now you can leave here the martyred, misunderstood husband. Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction. I take it back, Sam. You’re a pussycat. I’ll have milk and cookies for you when you get home You’re adorable. Eat your heart out. I’m sorry, I’m a forgiving woman. I can’t help myself. There’ll always be room for you in my garage. I forgive you. And she’s a nice girl. I’ll send her a nice gift. Well, you like things easy, don’t you? You don’t even have an affair the hard way. You could have at least taken the trouble to look outside your office for a girl . . . (Picks up imaginary phone.) “Miss McCormack, would you please come inside and take an affair!” . . . Honestly, Sam. I’m disappointed in you. It’s so damned unoriginal. Everyone cheats with their secretary. I expected more from my husband! Go on, Sam, go have your affair. You’re fifty-one years old. In an hour it may be too late . . .
Sam! Sam . . . do I still have my two choices? Because if I do . . . I choose “Get rid of Miss McCormack.” I pick “Stay here and work it out with me, Sam.” Because the other way I think I’m going to lose. . .. Please. We’ll do what you said before. We’ll lie. We’ll tell each other everything is all right. . .. There is nothing wrong in the office tonight, there is no Miss McCormack and I’m twenty-seven goddamned years old. . .. What do you say, Sam?
You are fighting to save your life. Sam is your life! Your humor has kept you going in tight spots throughout your life. But this is the tightest spot of all. Be aware that you are a funny person and don’t abandon the humor just because you feel yourself losing everything. It is precisely at a time like this when you need your humor. Then suddenly, get rid of the opposites and play exactly what is on the page with the last paragraph. Totally expose your vulnerability, fear, anxiety, pain, and love for him. The more you communicate to the other character, the more you give to the auditors.