The central meeting room of The Talk House, an old-fashioned, understated small club. Several armchairs, some facing away from us. There is a bar, with various bottles, where guests can refill their drinks. Robert is a tall, attractive man, perhaps in his sixties.
ROBERT
I got a call from Ted the other night. That was a surprise. It had probably been five or six years since I’d heard from Ted. Of course, I’d never really— Well, I was about to say I’d never really known Ted that well—but then who have I known well, when you get right down to it, come to think of it?—so I guess I won’t say that. To “know someone well”—I mean, that’s a phrase from another time. That’s an idiotic phrase. Who have I known well? I haven’t known anyone well. But at any rate, Ted, you see, had composed some incidental music for a play I’d written a dozen years ago or so called Midnight in a Clearing with Moon and Stars—quite nice music, actually—and at that time, you see, when theater played a somewhat larger part in the life of our city than it does now, Ted had been rather successful, he drove a rather nice car, he wore some pretty good-looking jackets and shirts, he was doing all right, but as far as I’d heard, his fortunes had declined, so it was in a way rather touching that he wanted to gather together some of the old gang from Midnight, as we called it, to commemorate the tenth anniversary of its opening night, a date I myself would never otherwise have noticed. You see, according to Ted, that play had apparently been a very happy experience for all concerned. I mean, that’s what he said, and it was nice to hear that, I guess, and I suppose I’d had a nice time, myself, relatively speaking, during the production of that play. Certainly it would be reasonable to call it, from many points of view, my best play, if one bothers to get involved in those invidious comparisons.
Like all my plays, Midnight was set in a period that to a lot of people seemed vaguely medieval, but I always explained that really most of my plays took place in a sort of imaginary kingdom that predated history altogether or stood to one side of it, at any rate. Midnight in a Clearing with Moon and Stars told the story of a powerful king, his loyal sons, and a princess, but actually the central figure was a sort of independent knight who lived in an enormous forest quite near the area ruled over by the king. Well—in any case, the play hadn’t been terribly well liked by the public, and it wasn’t a success, but quite a few people had enjoyed it quite a bit, including, interestingly, a certain Mr. Ackerley, who not long afterwards began to take a more and more prominent place in our national life, which, I’d have to admit, was not unhelpful to me when certain lovely prizes were awarded several years later, after I’d moved into the more congenial form of writing that sustains me today. Of course there are quite a few people who look back lovingly and longingly on the era of Walter Barclay in which that play was written, but you can put me down as a bit of a skeptic on that. I mean, was that really such a happy time? I’m not so sure. Certainly we can all agree that Walter Barclay was a very nice fellow, and Mr. Ackerley, as we know, has a cruel side, more and more in evidence, one could say, but how do these personal traits translate themselves into nation-wide happiness or unhappiness, or do they, you see? I think that’s the question that’s sometimes ignored. Mind you, I keep my views of Ackerley to myself, as most people obviously do if they have any brains. Walls have ears—as do floors, ceilings, windows, doors, plates, cups, spoons, forks, and come to think of it, other human beings, if we’re compiling a list. In any case, the alternation between Mr. Ackerley and our sneaky friend Mr. Rodman seems to work rather well, I feel, and I’m certainly not going to complain because statistics say that the theatergoing impulse has declined substantially since Walter Barclay took his last breath—or had it taken from him, if you believe those theories. A decline in the theatergoing impulse could in a way be seen as a small price to pay for the rather substantial benefit derived from entering into an era that quite a few people would describe as much more tranquil and much more agreeable than the one that preceded it. And the horrible truth, if I dare to say this, is that although I had some fairly nice times, some pretty good moments, putting on my plays—well, if pressed to the wall, I’d have to say that theater for me eventually came to seem like a rather narrow corner, a rather distasteful little corner of the world in which to spend my life—I came to feel that it was a corner of the world that I honestly wouldn’t mind leaving and whose general decline I was not in my heart of hearts terribly saddened about. Because, what exactly was “theater,” really, when you actually thought about it? You’d have to say that it was utterly and irreducibly about a small group of humans sitting and staring at another small group of humans—an animal process—an animal process that completely lacked art, not to mention, for my money, charm, and that was fundamentally no less mindless than what dogs do or what cows do, an animal business of sniffing and staring. No one really cared about the sound track to the event, the words that were spoken—the writer’s role was just to choose whether the cows on stage said “Moo” or whether they said “Moo moo.” And when I was young, that was all right with me. When I was young, I myself was still in love with the experience of sitting in a darkened theater and staring at the stage, and that was why I devoted all those years to putting on plays. I loved to look at them, I loved to stare at the actors and even the scenery they were placed in. In other words, well—I was unfailingly excited—one could even say awestruck—by the sight of an enormous stage, filled and over-filled with enormous shaggy trees rising as high as one could see—and even higher than one could see—and lit by beautiful, suffusing, milky moonlight . . . And then into that milky moonlight, people would stride, with glinting and flashing swords and maces—tall, gorgeous people in flowing robes of blue and red—you know, and I loved the scantily clad nymphs and the magnificent beards of the virile young men. I loved all of that. And sure—part of the pleasure I took in watching those figures was that their very manner, their bearing, so often reflected certain extremely noble but at the same time perennially threatened ideals that I greatly admired then—and still do: self-sacrifice, first of all, I suppose; courage—or heroism on a field of battle, if that was the venue; loyalty; the instantaneous, repeated decision to choose suffering in preference to dishonor. The power and magnificence of the body, I suppose, when inspired into action. And in a way one could laugh, but I still like to think that what we do each week on Tony and Company, admittedly in an entirely different style, presents some of the same ideals in a more contemporary package in each little thirty-minute segment. Tony—particularly as Tom plays him, of course—is understandable, he’s human, he has his failings and his weaknesses, but he’s fundamentally a good person who’s guided by the same principles that inspired some of the characters in my plays—he’s a person who’s prepared to fight when necessary to defend his friends. Or that’s how I would see it.
But at any rate, when I asked Ted where he thought we should hold our great anniversary celebration, he replied, “Why, The Talk House of course!” The Talk House? My God, The Talk House, that almost-legendary, wonderfully quiet and genteel club, known far and wide at one time for its delicious and generously sized snacks, some of them pleasantly sautéed, some delightfully freezing cold, all rather charming and unexpected—The Talk House, rather like my own play, had fallen completely out of my mind in recent years, and I was shocked to learn, quite frankly, that it still even existed. But of course it was the perfect place for us all to gather, because during the run of Midnight, many of us had gone there after the show almost every night to have a few drinks and enjoy a large or small dinner made up out of some alluring combination of attractive snacks. And of course everyone loved the incredibly kind matron who managed the place, Nellie, a very intelligent, very sensible, rather innocent woman, who always made me feel, when I would walk in the door and see her standing there, that I was a young student just starting out at a rather good school where I could feel quite confident I was going to be well taken care of.
(Nellie—thin, perhaps in her sixties—appears behind Robert and begins arranging the room.)
Nellie of course was assisted by Jane, who ten years ago had been a very young aspiring actress. As I happened to know, Jane had left The Talk House not too long after the days of Midnight, but unfortunately she hadn’t had great luck as a performer, and I wasn’t terribly surprised to learn from Ted that she’d eventually returned to her old job with Nellie.
(After a moment, Jane—perhaps early thirties, thin—appears, and begins to help Nellie. Nellie and Jane wear uniforms. Then we see Ted—perhaps in his fifties, not tall—come in the door and greet Nellie and Jane.)
These days Ted made a living writing advertising music whenever—to use his words—“something came up for which a more old-fashioned composer seemed appropriate.” At any rate, that’s how he put it to me.
(Annette—perhaps in her fifties, not thin—comes in and greets Nellie, Jane, and Ted.)
Annette had been our wardrobe supervisor on Midnight—that was her official title—but to many of us she’d been a special friend and confidante as well, because in stressful circumstances one could always count on Annette to stay pleasant and calm—a soothing presence. She now did private tailoring and repairs for various wealthy clients—a rather unstable mode of existence, as Ted explained it to me.
(Bill—perhaps in his fifties, not tall—enters and greets the others.)
Bill, our resourceful producer, was actually doing quite nicely these days. He’d become a talent agent, and was now quite well known and highly regarded in his new profession.
(Tom—perhaps in his sixties, tall and attractive—arrives and greets the others.)
And then of course there was Tom, the gorgeous and resplendent Tom, the star ten years ago of the not-terribly-successful theatrical masterpiece Midnight in a Clearing with Moon and Stars, and currently the star of the unbelievably successful television masterpiece Tony and Company, for which I’ve had the honor for the last many years of laboring as head writer, story editor, chief word-wrangler, or whatever you’d want to call me.
(Nellie, Jane, Ted, Annette, Bill, and Tom go off together as Robert continues to speak to the audience.)
At any rate, as the author of the immortal dramatic work that we were gathering to celebrate, I considered it my prerogative to show up a fashionable twelve minutes late, and as the others had all wandered off into the library before I arrived, I didn’t see anyone in the club’s main meeting room when I came into it, and so I decided to begin my evening by experiencing the men’s room briefly. When I stepped outside of the men’s room a moment later, I hovered for a short time in the midst of a sort of small glade of armchairs in my usual rather confused state of suspended animation, looking this way and that, when all of a sudden a rather large blurry figure quite unexpectedly rose up from one of the armchairs to greet me. Dick.
(Dick—perhaps in his sixties, not thin—stands up out of one of the armchairs. He slowly makes his way across the stage to Robert.)
I was taken aback—shocked. First of all, Dick was one of the last people on earth I’d ever expected to see in my life again. Quite a famous actor some decades before—his face, wearing the trademark mustache of his character, “Chico,” had adorned the front of coffee cans for all the many years that Carlos and Jenny had been the nation’s most beloved show—he’d fallen on hard times after the show ended and had become, by the time we all knew him, a sort of rather pitiful theatrical hanger-on. Eventually he’d sort of slipped out of town without anyone’s noticing, and I’d always assumed he’d gone to some quiet, small city, gotten sick, and died. Second of all—my God—his appearance had horribly changed. He was much heavier, almost fat, and he was dressed in the most hideous sort of pajama-like sports outfit, this once rather elegant man who’d actually been sort of a famous dandy in his day. And then the other thing was that Dick’s cheeks and nose seemed definitely bruised, and his mouth too seemed to have been hurt somehow and was crusted, perhaps, with a bit of dried blood. In fact, one could hardly credit the fact that a person who looked the way he did was standing in the well-known rose-colored parlor of this rather refined, rather lady-like club. In other words, this was not quite The Talk House as I recalled it from days gone by. As I stood there flabbergasted, trying to get my bearings, I also began to surmise that, to top it all off, Dick might be drunk, in fact he looked as if he’d been drunk for days, or if he wasn’t drunk, then he somehow seemed to be neurologically impaired or damaged in some way. He took a step toward me slowly and looked me in the eye. “Robert,” he said and stared unwaveringly. Then he raised his hand as if to hit me, and then he stumbled backwards. I held him by the forearm to stabilize him and said, “Good to see you, Dick.”
DICK
Robert.
(He raises his hand, stumbles backward, and Robert holds his forearm.)
ROBERT
Good to see you, Dick.
DICK
Well, well. Just great to see you . . .
ROBERT
I mean, really, Dick, this is amazing, how are you?
DICK
I’m absolutely fine. Very very well. (A slight pause) What? Oh—this? (Pointing to his face) Well! No—I— (Somewhat more quietly and confidentially) No, don’t worry about that! I was beaten, rather recently, by some friends, but you see, I actually enjoyed it very much, in the end. Really, it was great. No—I loved it! In fact, you should try it some time, Robert. It’s not what you think. It was quite fun, I’m serious.
ROBERT
My God, what happened?
DICK
Well, it was a short battering. You know. Informal. A small group of my friends—we met, you know, and they just said, Dick, you see, you’re getting a bit close to being “grr—grr—grr—” (He covers his mouth and makes a weird animal sound, miming odd animal-like behavior) so we have to “ergh” (Miming some punches) —and we have to “ergh” (More mimed blows) —and maybe a bit of “ergh” . . . (Mimed kicks)
ROBERT
You mean they—?—
DICK
They were right, obviously. I was getting to the point where I was about to cross a line, and this was sort of a case of, “Stop! Go back a few steps!” You know, that sort of thing.
(Robert stares at Dick.)
ROBERT
Crossing a line? But, Dick—my God, you were—you were always such a quiet, well-behaved little bastard when I knew you, Dick.
DICK
I still am! (He laughs loudly) But that’s what I find myself saying every day. I haven’t changed. Everything else has changed. Do you know what I mean? Why are things different? (He laughs) I want the old days back! Where are they? Where have they gone? I mean, the old days were great—weren’t they, Robert? Oh yes, the old old days were wonderful days! And they were better for me—I mean, personally, you see, they were much better for me.
ROBERT
Yes—of course—
DICK
And you know—you remember—I loved being an actor! It was nice, being an actor! What a fun way to live! I loved it, really. I know, I know, I wasn’t that good, but—
ROBERT
What? You were!
DICK
Oh no, no—
ROBERT
Of course you were.
(A pause.)
DICK
Well—you didn’t think so.
ROBERT
What? I did!
(Dick is silent. He pointedly looks off into the distance.)
Oh come on, Dick. What? I did.
(Dick is silent.)
What are you—? —You don’t mean—my stupid play? But that—that was—that had nothing to do with me. I—
(Dick suddenly stares offstage and points.)
DICK
Oh my God, am I hallucinating? Oh my God! Isn’t that—
(Robert too now sees the group offstage.)
ROBERT
Oh! Yes! Yes, that’s Bill—
DICK
My God! Bill!
ROBERT
And Ted—and Annette—
DICK
And Tom, of course—the magnificent Tom—but this— (Laughing) —this—this reminds me of one of those nights when you sleep in an overheated room—you know?—and you dream you’re surrounded by every horrible person you’ve ever met in your life!— (Laughing) —Or you know, to put it a bit differently, (Laughing) you’re surrounded by all your favorite people, and you’re absolutely thrilled! (Laughing. He waves and shouts to the group) Hello, everybody! (He stares for a moment, then turns back to Robert) My God, what’s the matter? Don’t they recognize me?
ROBERT
Well—er—you do look somewhat different, Dick.
DICK
Hey—so do you. A bit less tidy around the edges, perhaps? (Confidingly) Say, by the way, how have things gone, over all these years, with your—er—you know, the problem you had?
(Robert looks blank.)
The special problem you had? You know, the problem you had about hating people? I remember you used to have a terrible problem about hating people. Remember? You couldn’t control it at all. Some of us—well, some of us fell victim to that. You know, you couldn’t control your hatred towards certain people . . .
ROBERT
I don’t remember that.
DICK
Oh, come on—you must remember hating me, at least. I mean, that was why I didn’t get that part in Midnight in a Clearing. Of course I wasn’t very good, I wasn’t a good actor, I know that now, but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t get the part. I didn’t get the part because you kept telling Bill, “I’m sorry, I hate him. I can’t help it. I happen to hate him, and I don’t want him around me.” (He laughs) I mean, at least that’s apparently what you kept telling Bill—I mean, you know, you hated me personally, you refused to let him hire me—you put your foot down—or anyway that’s what Bill told me you’d said—I assumed it was true . . .
ROBERT
Dick, seriously—
DICK
I mean, I wasn’t a good actor, but the funny thing was—and I’ve always thought this—the funny thing was that I think I would have been good in that part, because I felt I was sort of right for it, you see. I had an insight into it. And I felt that Bill was rather on my side about that, he did say that of all the people you were thinking about, I seemed to be the one who was most likely to capture some of the less obvious sides of the character, you see, the special secrets he had, the more interesting parts of the writing, quite frankly. I don’t know—I’m just saying that that was how Bill seemed to feel, and he was probably wrong, but who knows, maybe I could have brought something to it that Tom in a way couldn’t quite pull off, or didn’t pull off, or—I don’t know. It’s possible. You know. I’m just saying—it’s possible. It’s possible. It’s not im-possible. I mean, I might have cut to the heart of it, you see, in a way that was outside of Tom’s range, in a way. I don’t know. Who knows? I mean, you know, Tom was excellent. He did an excellent job. I’m just saying, it was a possibility.
ROBERT
A lot of time has passed, Dick. You’re talking about—
DICK
Oh. I’m sorry, I thought you brought it up. I thought you were the one who brought up the subject. But you know, it’s possible it was me. Maybe somehow I sensed that you were thinking about it, I don’t know, so I somehow mentioned it. I mean, you know, it’s not as if I’m constantly brooding about it.
ROBERT
No . . . Good . . . I mean, you had a wonderful career, Dick. I certainly wouldn’t know why you’d—
DICK
(Laughs) No really, I’m sorry. You see, that’s my problem. I keep talking about things that come into my head. Because my— (Coughs, chokes) —my life— (Chokes) —my—
ROBERT
Are you all right?
DICK
Yes, yes, I’m fine. (Gasps) The beating had some consequences, obviously, in some of the parts of my— (Chokes) —You know, when I—er— (Chokes)
ROBERT
Look, I realize this must be a terrible time for you, I—
(Dick subsides into a chair and begins to shiver, then shake, almost as if he’s convulsing slightly.)
I mean—for God’s sake—don’t try to talk—can I get you something? A glass of water? I—
(As Robert starts to head offstage, Ted, Annette, Bill, and Tom come in and joyfully embrace him, shouting, “Robert! Robert!” and improvising greetings. Dick continues to cough and shake.)
(To the others) Look, I was just getting a glass of water for—
(He finds a pitcher and a glass and pours some water. The others notice Dick and go toward him. Dick’s tremors increase.)
BILL
Good Lord . . . What’s going on? Can we—
(Dick’s tremors moderate a bit.)
DICK
No, no—I’m fine.
(Bill recognizes Dick.)
BILL
Dick! Dick! My God . . .
DICK
Yes, I know. I’ve gained weight.
(They all gather around Dick. Robert tries to give Dick water, but Dick rebuffs it.)
TED
Dick, this is incredible . . .
ANNETTE
Hi, Dick.
DICK
Oh my God—Ted? Annette? So you’re here too? I can’t believe it . . .
(Dick fades out, seems to be unconscious, except that he keeps moving vaguely and making odd sounds.)
ANNETTE
Is he all right?
TED
He looks like he’s having a seizure of some kind . . .
BILL
No, no, he must be drunk or something . . .
(Nellie and Jane come in. They don’t notice Dick.)
NELLIE
(To Robert) This is a miracle. It’s so wonderful to see you, Mr. Robert. We’ve missed you so much.
JANE
Yes—you’re looking well . . .
ROBERT
Nellie—Jane—
(Dick starts coughing again and trembling more visibly.)
TOM
Nellie—er—what’s the story with Dick? Is he all right?
NELLIE
Is he all right?
TOM
I mean, is Dick a member here? Is he—I mean—do you know what’s wrong with him? Is he ill, or—
NELLIE
Well, he’s been a member here longer than practically anyone, you see. And he’s been beaten up rather frequently. So this is the result. We’ve given him a room upstairs until he feels a bit better.
(They all stand around Dick. His coughing and trembling begins to lessen.)
Well, you see, we do have two or three rooms upstairs that we give to people who need them. I mean, I do know how to put a basic bandage on a wound. And we make a very nice breakfast for them, and we give them a cold lunch—very simple— But the rooms are quite sunny, and they can look out the window and see a bit of sky and even some greenery—some grass and trees. It’s very quiet up there. And in the afternoon we always have tea and some rather nice cakes. So yes, we do take care of certain people occasionally, when someone needs to be kept cozy and comfortable.
ROBERT
My God, it sounds like heaven. Can I move in?
(They all laugh.)
TOM
So the old Talk House has taken on a few new functions, it seems—is that right, Nellie?
NELLIE
Oh no, no, I wouldn’t say that. But everyone—please—tell Jane what you’d like to drink. We have all the old cocktails—and a few new ones!
(Jane begins to take drink orders and serve drinks. Improvised dialogue about the drinks can overlap with the written dialogue. After being served an initial drink by Jane, everyone goes up to the bar at different times to refill their drinks.)
TED
And won’t you have something to drink, Nellie?
NELLIE
Well, no, I won’t. When we have guests, you know, I only drink my Emerald Surprise.
(Nellie pours herself a green liquid from a distinctive green bottle on the bar.)
TED
It looks delicious.
BILL
And of course you still have all your special snacks, don’t you?
NELLIE
Oh, we certainly do. We still have all the old snacks, and of course occasionally we do add something new, but, you know, the old “Talk House style” hasn’t changed a bit . . . For better or worse. I mean, obviously we’ve fallen out of fashion to some extent . . .
ROBERT
Oh?
NELLIE
Oh yes, we’re certainly out of fashion. We certainly are. You know, there was a time when we used to need three cooks working in the kitchen! On most nights, really, this place would be so full of people that we couldn’t close till three in the morning!
ROBERT
Of course, yes . . .
TED
Yes, everyone I’d ever known in my life would end up here on one night or another.
NELLIE
Well, it’s different now. I mean, people do still come, but the daring outfits people used to wear—that’s all gone—and oh my God, when I think of the romances that flowered inside these walls back then—the hands touching under the table—no, no . . . I mean, where are all the lively people? Maybe they’re somewhere. They’re not here.
BILL
Really . . . Yes . . .
NELLIE
And I mean, we certainly don’t get to see any of you very often, now do we, Mr. Bill?
BILL
Well—I mean—
NELLIE
Why is that, Mr. Robert, if I may ask? Can you tell me the reason, since we’re speaking so frankly?
ROBERT
Oh, there’s no reason at all. You know, the lure of the new. We’ve been seduced by ridiculously expensive, flashier places, to be absolutely frank. I mean, speaking for myself.
TOM
Yes, it’s the same with me, I’d have to confess.
BILL
Some of us have to go to bed at night. It’s not as if we’re singing songs somewhere else.
ANNETTE
And some of us have to deal with the exciting challenge of having no money. I’d love to have somebody else cook my dinner. I don’t enjoy cooking, I’m not a great cook, I’d come here every night if I could afford it.
NELLIE
Well, our little club is offering some pretty good deals these days.
ANNETTE
Yes, but you see, my club’s more exclusive. No one can join but me.
TED
Oh yes, the one-member club is the latest thing. Mine is so nice and snug. And you see, there are very few disturbances in my club. No one makes a scene, no one complains about the food, no one hangs around too late. And it’s terribly informal. I mean, I can walk around in my underwear, and no one complains.
NELLIE
(To Ted) No, I do understand. It’s just sad to see so little of you, dear. (To Tom) I mean, you’re the only one I see all the time, Mr. Tom—I mean, on my screen. You’ve kept us all laughing through good times and bad, as people say. I used to watch old episodes of your show practically every night when my dear, sick mother was in the hospital—it was very comforting.
TOM
Damn, it’s nice to hear you say that, Nellie. I’m pretty tired of the old show myself, by now, to be absolutely frank, as I was saying to Robert only yesterday, I think.
ROBERT
Yes, you did say that yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that.
(They both laugh. Dick’s eyes open.)
NELLIE
Don’t you ever stop doing your show, Mr. Tom! I don’t think we’d survive.
TOM
I really appreciate your saying that, Nellie.
ROBERT
Yes, thank you, Nellie. You know, the truth is, you can honestly go into the studio and work yourself sick every day, week after week, and at the same time you really can actually forget that there’s anyone out there watching the damned thing—that’s honestly the truth.
NELLIE
Oh we’re watching, all right. It’s a wonderful show.
(Dick rouses himself. He seems to have recovered.)
DICK
Yes, it’s very well written, and it’s very well done. And you make me laugh, Tom, you really do. It’s a fine show.
TOM
Well, so was yours, Dick.
DICK
It’s kind of you to say that, Tom.
(Dick walks off.)
NELLIE
And now speaking of things we love, isn’t it about time for you all to do another play? We need more plays!
TOM
Well, it takes a lot of effort to put on a play . . .
ROBERT
And our last attempt wasn’t entirely successful, one has to admit . . .
NELLIE
Oh, those critics were idiots! They didn’t know what they were talking about. For God’s sake. It was a fantastic play. “And as I stepped into the darkened meadow, I heard a cry, and there I saw a man no bigger than a newborn doe . . .”
ROBERT
Good Lord! You remember those lines? . . .
NELLIE
Of course of course! But why don’t you all do more theater these days? I don’t understand . . .
ANNETTE
Oh, it isn’t us. I mean, we don’t do theater because the theater isn’t there. It’s gone, you see.
BILL
There’s no more theater.
TED
It sort of got very quiet, and then it just wasn’t there at all.
TOM
People stopped going to see plays. They just gave up.
ANNETTE
The plays got too sad. They were sad and miserable.
BILL
And the erotic element wasn’t very nice.
ANNETTE
People didn’t want to be reminded of things like that, so they stayed at home, and so all the people who used to work in the theater went into all sorts of different fields.
ROBERT
So the theater is gone, but there are new things now. Change is inevitable, everything changes, things change, that’s the rule of life. The world moves on.
TOM
The world moves on. It certainly does. The world moves on. And I mean, by the way, speaking of that, what do you think about all these elections, Nellie? Bill and I were just talking about that. What’s going on with this crazy number of elections we’re having? They’re just too frequent—don’t you think so?
NELLIE
Oh yes, I agree. Once a year was more than enough for me—every three months is almost irritating. And I mean, Ackerley almost always wins anyway, you know, almost always, and he’s had the job for much too long, anyway, I would say.
TOM
Bill and I were saying the very same thing.
BILL
You know, I like Ackerley, and I like Rodman—I’ve voted for Rodman more than once—
NELLIE
Of course, so have I. I mean, they’re both good people—though I don’t find either of them particularly brilliant, if you really want to know . . .
BILL
Brilliant—well—
TOM
I mean, Ackerley’s quite a remarkable man, he—
TED
Yes, I suppose . . .
NELLIE
(To Tom) Have you met him, Mr. Tom?
(During the following, Jane and Nellie begin to bring out and serve snacks. There can either be a lot of snacks or not so many, and everyone can either be seated at a table or not. Quiet murmuring about the serving of the snacks can also be improvised. As the guests talk, Nellie and Jane keep the room tidy, occasionally refill drinks, supply food.)
TOM
Oh yes, of course, a number of times.
NELLIE
And?
TOM
Well, he’s very charming, very clever of course. I like him very much. You know, he’s very knowledgeable about film, among other things. He has a secret taste for Korean films—you’d be surprised. He knows the names of Korean actresses, I’m serious.
NELLIE
I had no idea . . .
(Dick wanders back in and sits quietly at some distance from the others.)
TOM
And on the subject of dogs, my God—
NELLIE
Yes?
TOM
You know I saw him about a year ago at some ceremony or other, and I mentioned something about my pugs. Well, it turns out his knowledge of the origins of dog breeds is absolutely extraordinary. And he has all sorts of theories about the transmission of various characteristics having to do with, you know, why spaniels have such tranquil personalities and things like that. So he’s pretty impressive, he really is. But of course Rodman’s a very nice fellow as well. He has some pretty strict principles, obviously, as everyone knows, but he’s remarkably friendly and sincere, and he really likes a lot of people whom he actually despises, if you know what I mean.
BILL
Well yes, that’s true . . . And I mean, of course they’re both well-meaning people, and they’re bright and competent, I know all that, but in a way I’ve gotten fed up with both of them, really, because I just can’t stand that “Program of Murdering,” it gets bigger every year—I mean, I think it’s awful, and I don’t know why they—
TOM
Well, to some extent I think they got into all that because they found it attracted an awful lot of voters—I mean, that’s all very popular in the rural areas, isn’t it.
BILL
Well, I’m sure it is, but you can’t just snuff out this enormous number of lives because people in the rural areas find it—because they find it somehow—
ANNETTE
Well, it isn’t really an enormous number of lives.
BILL
It—what?
ANNETTE
It isn’t an enormous number of lives.
BILL
It isn’t?
ANNETTE
Well, not compared to the number of lives that are lost in a war.
BILL
Really. You see, to me it seems like an enormous number.
ANNETTE
Well, it’s a serious matter if a policy leads to the loss of life, of course it’s a serious matter, but policies that govern the regulation of various drugs cost lives, policies that govern the regulation of games cost lives . . .
BILL
But the Program of Murdering is growing faster than any other program, it—
TOM
Well, I think Annette’s just saying that if there were no such program, then we—we might be involved in—
ANNETTE
Let’s put it this way. It happens to be necessary, it can’t really be avoided, and so we shouldn’t get obsessed about it. It’s like something one does behind one’s own back, so to speak—like something slightly unpleasant that one does with one’s ass once a day or so without paying it really a lot of attention.
TOM
Well, that’s—
BILL
So what are you saying? I’m not—
ANNETTE
I’m saying, you know, we go about our lives every day—we go to work, we talk, we drink glasses of wine—and every once in a while, occasionally even in the middle of dinner, we feel the need to go into the nearest bathroom and use our asses to get rid of some waste. And we barely even give it a moment’s thought. So I mean, you know, pardon me, but I’m making an analogy between dropping some waste into the toilet, you see, and dropping a few small bombs onto certain targets, you know, dropping some rather small bombs onto certain people who pose a threat to us, all rather casual, and then you wash your hands and return to the table, and there you have your Program of Murdering. It takes very little time, it’s barely noticeable, it’s something you could say that everyone does, and in the context of our lives and all the things we do, it’s rather trivial.
(A pause.)
ROBERT
Very few people do use the bathroom in the middle of dinner.
TOM
(Ignoring Robert; to Annette) No, I do understand all that, certainly, but you see, my problem is just that I always worry, can we really be sure that we’re murdering the right people? That’s what worries me.
ANNETTE
Well, we’re getting awfully good at determining that. We really are. An incredible amount of effort goes into that.
BILL
Oh come on, Annette. How do you know? I mean, how have you become such an authority on this? What makes you think you know anything about it?
ANNETTE
Well—I’ve done it, darling.
(A pause.)
ROBERT
Oh—
TOM
Really—
BILL
What have you done?
ROBERT
You’ve done—?—what?
ANNETTE
The private tailoring business is not what it used to be, in case you don’t happen to know that, Bill. Yes, I’m not ashamed of it—quite the contrary. Quite the contrary! Of course I’ve done targeting. Of course I have, like half the people you know.
BILL
Targeting? Are you serious?
TOM
Is that right.
ROBERT
You target people.
ANNETTE
I study lists of people, and I select the individuals who need to be killed. And I’m delighted to tell you that it brings me a paycheck, and the amazing thing is that my paycheck arrives with complete regularity. It’s a small check, obviously, but they never say, “Oh, I’m so sorry, we can’t pay you this week, but we promise to pay you next week for sure.”
BILL
Well, you know, this is a surprise, it really is. And—er—and you really shouldn’t say—you shouldn’t just say you’ve done targeting “like half the people you know,” because, with all respect, the people I happen to know have not done it, I’m very sorry.
ANNETTE
Well, yes, they have.
BILL
Oh come on, Annette, that’s really absurd. I mean, I’m surprised you’ve done it, and I don’t happen to know other people who’ve done it!
ANNETTE
Excuse me—you do.
BILL
Well, who are you talking about? You keep—
TED
Oh for God’s sake, Bill. Don’t pretend to be such an idiot. Annette’s done it, I’ve done it. A lot of people you know have done it. It’s not some strange mysterious activity. It’s a very simple, mechanical process, and that’s all. Don’t you know that children are being trained to do it in school?
BILL
What?
TOM
Are they?
TED
I’m not saying they’re actually doing it, but yes, in certain schools they’re receiving training in targeting as part of the curriculum.
(Jane goes out.)
BILL
Well—
TED
Bill, it’s a very simple, mechanical process. It’s not as if we’re looking at somebody’s photograph and sort of saying, “Hm, I don’t like the expression on that guy’s face, I think he should be killed.” It’s not like that. We’re targeting people who present a serious danger. We’re applying a list of criteria to people. We’re—
BILL
What kind of—?—
TED
And there are certain people who meet the criteria—A, B, C, D, it’s a very long list—and if they meet the criteria, you can be goddamned sure that these are people who are dangerous to us. In other words, these are people who would like to harm us.
BILL
And those are the ones you feel should be killed?
TED
That’s what I’m saying. What are you trying to ask me, Bill? I don’t understand.
BILL
When they meet the criteria, they ought to be killed.
TED
Yes, because they would like to harm us. What are you trying to—
BILL
What—
TED
Do you want to be harmed?
BILL
No! I don’t! But how are you defining—I mean—
TED
Look, Bill, I mean, you’re giving me the sense that you find this all just terribly distasteful. You’re recoiling, somehow. I mean, you seem very dubious about whether it’s true that there are people out there who would like to harm us. Well, I can assure you, there are. Believe it or not, there are people out there who don’t like you, and they don’t like me. And—
BILL
Yes, but I mean, isn’t there a sort of rather important distinction to be drawn between—I mean—a person who might possibly harbor certain negative thoughts about us, on the one hand, and—
TED
Of course there is. That’s the crucial—that’s it!—that’s the crucial element of accurate targeting! You don’t seem to understand that there are people who’ve already thought about this. There are psychologists and sociologists who’ve devoted their lives to this—they’ve done very, very exhaustive studies analyzing the precise difference between—between some guy who’s sitting in some miserable room thinking resentful thoughts about us because life hasn’t met his expectations, on the one hand, and on the other hand, some other guy sitting in a similar room, who may outwardly seem to be just like the first guy, but—
BILL
And by the way, where are these people? Are they—I mean, are we talking about people who live in—I mean, where are we talking about now?
ANNETTE
Where?
BILL
(To Annette) I mean, you say you targeted people. Where were they, exactly?
ANNETTE
Well, in my case, they were in Malaysia.
BILL
So I mean, tell me about them. What sort of people were they? Were they businessmen? Were they—?—
ANNETTE
A majority of them made a living by herding sheep. When they weren’t being trained in the use of explosives.
BILL
But I mean, if they were being trained in the use of explosives, did their training in explosives become their permanent job at some point, or did they just study explosives occasionally? Was it a weekend thing, or—I mean, were they in an army, or—?—
ANNETTE
I really don’t know, and the questions you’re asking are completely irrelevant, because the crucial element in determining whether a person is going to harm you is not how many lessons in explosives he’s had, it’s the type of feeling he has about you. That’s the thing I need to know.
(Nellie is serving more food.)
TED
We’re trying to find the people who have the potential to harm us. And they have the potential to harm us because they’d like to harm us.
BILL
Yes, but you see, putting people’s feelings to one side for just a moment, I mean, how do you know that some person who lives thousands of miles away from you will ever even get close enough to you to harm you at all?
TED
I’m not saying he’ll harm me, I’m saying he’ll harm us. And I’m not saying he’ll do it all by himself, maybe he’ll help some of his friends to do it. He’ll do whatever he’s able to do, and what that might be, I can’t possibly know. What I do know is that he happens to be a member of that particular category of people who would like to harm us, and so if we get rid of him, and we get rid of all the other people in that particular category, then there won’t be anyone left who would like to harm us, and so no one will harm us. Is that really so hard to understand?
(A pause. Nellie offers a tentative thought.)
NELLIE
You have to wonder, What would happen if the people we’re targeting were ever to learn our techniques—and start going after us? What if everybody—started targeting everybody? And little bombs were flying between everybody and everybody? . . .
ROBERT
Well . . .
ANNETTE
(Ignoring Nellie) And by the way—by the way, the things we’ve done have really made a difference. I mean, we happen to be winning. People are worrying much much less. I mean, do you remember that day five years ago when there was that peculiar gas floating across the river, and people thought it might be some form of mustard gas? Did that by any chance frighten you, Bill?
BILL
Yes, it did, I was very frightened.
ANNETTE
I remember the way I felt when I heard about that gas—the way I was shaking with fear, I was actually sick. Well, things like that aren’t happening now. We’re all less afraid—less afraid of all of those people, because—
BILL
And—pardon me if I’m going around in circles here—why, did you say, do all these people have this desire to harm us?
TED
Why do they—?—
BILL
Why do they want to harm us, did you say?
TED
I didn’t—I didn’t say why. Who cares why?
BILL
Well, one does have a certain curiosity about it.
ANNETTE
Well, darling, I mean, if you walk out of your apartment onto the street one day, and there’s a man on the sidewalk firing shots at you, I’m not sure it makes sense to sort of stand there musing about what particular problems in the poor man’s life might have led him to become a homicidal maniac. I think you’d want to hide behind a car or something. You know, find at least a temporary solution to the problem at hand.
TED
Or a permanent solution—kill the guy.
BILL
Yes, that would settle it.
(A pause. Bill glances around the room.)
(To Ted and Annette, chuckling) You know, you all honestly remind me of that character on Leonard Manville’s old show who used to shoot some stranger in a bar practically every other episode.
TED
You mean, the guy they called Porky Horowitz? Thanks a lot there, Bill.
ANNETTE
Yes—very flattering.
ROBERT
Oh, Porky wasn’t really such a bad fellow. He just had a rather low tolerance for people who were rude.
TOM
Quite understandable.
DICK
Say, incidentally, did any of you hear what happened to Daphne Albright last week?
ROBERT
No. What?
DICK
(To Robert) God, what log have you been sleeping under?
ROBERT
Well—what happened to her?
DICK
Well, she was having dinner over at Le Grand Plaisir—
TED
I can’t stand that place.
DICK
—and she died there. They say she kept getting up to use the bathroom, and then at a certain point, she came back from the bathroom, and she started making these weird noises, these weird sounds like “Erk erk erk”—“erk erk erk”—and then—she died!
ANNETTE
Died?! What? (Everyone reacts) That’s just impossible!
BILL
But that sounds like exactly what happened to Nestor Crawley. The bathroom thing, and then those sounds—
TED
Oh my God—Crawley—I’d forgotten that!
TOM
Crawley, of course—I was there that night, at Raymond’s, I was just coming in for a drink after the show, and the police cars were just pulling out of the driveway with Nestor’s corpse! God help us. What?—have we been phasing in some new technique?
DICK
It’s hardly new, dear, it’s been around for years. It’s a bit like arsenic. Tiny gray little pellets—no taste at all. Your friend drops two or three of them into your drink, and bam!—half an hour later you’re gone, that’s it.
BILL
Good Lord . . . The Horrible Crawley . . .
TED
Well, he was horrible, but still, that’s an awful way to go, I think.
BILL
Oh, it could be worse.
(A slight pause. Nellie goes out.)
DICK
Do you know?—I always think one should reflect very carefully before one makes a remark like that. I mean, you casually say something like “it could be worse.” But to me, you see—well, I happen to be quite a superstitious person, and as a superstitious person I can’t help but believe that if you casually make light of some particular form of human suffering—a disease, say, or some type of calamity, or, you know, as in this case, a manner of dying—then quite possibly that form of suffering will take offense at it somehow and will somehow return to make you regret your remark.
(A slight pause.)
ANNETTE
I think—I think that’s a terrible thing to say.
(A slight pause.)
DICK
Well—fine, then. I take it back. (He stands up and starts to leave)
ANNETTE
(To Dick, as he leaves) We’re trying to have a pleasant evening!
DICK
Annette, sweetheart, Daphne Albright was trying to have a pleasant evening. Nestor Crawley was trying to have a pleasant evening. They just happened to be people who began to behave in a way that was (He mimes odd animal-like behavior, as before) “grr—grr—grr,” for which they were rewarded in an unpleasant way. And that’s all. I think I’ll go and help Nellie in the kitchen, excuse me.
(Dick leaves. They all watch him go.)
TOM
Oh my God, he’s become a—a poisonous snake! I can’t believe it. He used to be such a sweet little fellow.
TED
He used to curl up on my piano bench and listen to me play—like a little cat.
BILL
Horrible. He’s dreadful.
(Jane wanders in.)
ANNETTE
Jane, Dick’s become an absolute horror. A horror! How can you let him stay here overnight?
JANE
Oh my God, what’s he been doing?
ANNETTE
Oh nothing, nothing. He’s just been telling us about the deaths of some awful people we used to know, when we’re trying to have a pleasant evening . . . Disgusting—it’s disgusting! He seems to be completely out of control . . .
JANE
I know, I know . . . We’ve done our best to—
ANNETTE
Well, it’s not working!
JANE
Oh my God . . .
ANNETTE
The tone of his voice—it was as if he was enjoying it—and he was telling us that people we know are being poisoned—their drinks are being poisoned—
TOM
Well, Dick isn’t your fault, Jane. For goodness sake.
ROBERT
No, of course he isn’t.
(A silence.)
ANNETTE
He’s just become such a vicious person. I just— (She falls silent)
TOM
But anyway, Jane, how are you doing these days? Why don’t you sit down with us here and tell us what you’ve been up to for all these years.
JANE
Oh no, no. I really shouldn’t.
TOM
Now, don’t be absurd. We’d love to hear all about you—we all would.
JANE
Really?
ROBERT
Absolutely.
JANE
Well, all right then—thank you very much. (She sits down) My, what comfortable chairs we have here! (They all laugh)
TOM
So tell us everything, Jane. Surely you haven’t been sitting here at The Talk House for all this time, have you?
JANE
No, not really. I’ve just been back for a year or so, actually.
TOM
So tell us about your adventures, then.
JANE
Oh, it’s a pretty long story. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve seen you all. You know, I was on that show Mouse Chatter for quite a while—I mean, I only had a very small part, but that was great . . .
ANNETTE
You mean with Heidi Jones?
JANE
Yes, Heidi Jones!
BILL
At first we all found those crazy Heidi mannerisms so endearing, didn’t we, but after a year or two it was more like, For God’s sake, will you stop doing that? (Chuckling) And I didn’t like that young boy on the show.
JANE
Sam? You didn’t?
BILL
No! I didn’t! He was weak—he was self-pitying—he was just revolting, really—I mean, he was such a worm-like, whiny, creepy little thing . . . and he had no personality—none at all . . .
TED
Bill—please—maybe Jane was a friend of the boy . . .
BILL
Well, if he was your friend, I’m sorry, I’m sure in real life he was a very nice person, but he made my flesh crawl—
TOM
We hear you, Bill. No, my problem with the show was just with the writing. I mean, the stories were pointless. I’m not saying everything has to be Atlantic History or, you know, Pills— (General chuckling) —but you have to have some desire, when you’re watching a show, to know what’s going to be happening next. You have to at least be thinking, even if the subject is completely silly, “Oh, I wonder if she’s going to look in the drawer and find Fred’s socks in there,” or—you know what I mean.
ANNETTE
It just wasn’t funny enough, I always felt. Heidi Jones wasn’t funny.
ROBERT
Heidi Jones was funny when she did that short-lived thing about all those nuns who drank too much. But when you have people like Rick Hazelton and Harvey Knowles, who had no qualifications whatsoever to be running a show, in charge of things, naturally they hired the worst writers, the worst directors—it’s really a miracle it lasted as long as it did.
(A silence.)
TOM
(To Jane) So then what did you do when Mouse Chatter ended?
JANE
Oh, I did a couple of other shows that weren’t that great, and I did one or two plays. And then I went abroad for a while. I worked as a murderer for the “Special Areas Project” for three or four years, if you really want to know. Not very nice.
TOM
Oh, God. That’s awful. Where did they send you? Nigeria?
JANE
Yeah, mostly Nigeria. They had me out in Indonesia for a while—I don’t know . . .
TED
Damn. Really. So, what did they have you doing, exactly?
JANE
Well, I stuck people with—you know—pins, I guess—I mean, I shouldn’t laugh, because it was actually awful—but I scratched people, basically. In crowds, or sports events, or you know, mostly on the street. I’d scratch them, there’d be about two minutes where they’d feel sort of odd, supposedly, then they’d die, and of course by then I’d be far away.
ROBERT
Really. Just dreadful.
JANE
A few times I had to kill someone more directly—you know, when there was someone who wasn’t really all that bad, but they still decided that they had to be killed, and they were basically giving them a painless end . . . You know, these were people who wouldn’t be able to put up a fight—quite elderly people. I mean, I was basically the angel of mercy, or whatever you want to call it, so the person would usually just curl up into a ball and let me stick them. I wasn’t great at it—you had to stick them in the right place, obviously, to be sure it was painless, and I was always nervous, I guess, so it wasn’t always as easy as it sounds. But when they saw me coming, they knew I was going to be doing it nicely—as opposed to opening their door one day and seeing Ray standing there—do you remember Ray, that guy who used to work at the coffee shop next door, with the bright red shirts?
ANNETTE
Oh, yes . . . Ray . . .
JANE
You know, I did it the nice way, and they always used Ray to do it the bad way—you know, the horrible way—with—
ROBERT
Please—don’t tell us—we don’t want to know!
(They all laugh.)
JANE
Anyway, eventually I just decided to come back home and work for Nellie again . . .
TOM
Much nicer.
JANE
And Africa’s hard—you know, the food isn’t great, most people are starving, it’s really bad.
ROBERT
Right, right.
(A slight pause.)
TOM
You know, Nigeria’s one of the worst territories in the world for our show, actually. Almost nobody watches it there. I’m not even sure they’re still showing it there.
JANE
No, no, they wouldn’t like it there at all. Definitely not. Different sense of humor. Completely different.
ROBERT
Actually, we are still shown in Nigeria. I mean, to tell you the truth, Nigeria honestly isn’t as bad for us as it might be, compared to a lot of other places. I mean, Luxembourg, for example, has completely died on us.
ANNETTE
Really. How strange.
JANE
You know, I have a friend in Luxembourg, and I’ll bet none of you can guess what their favorite show is.
BILL
Their favorite show—?—
ANNETTE
William and Mike?
JANE
No, no, you’ll never guess! And I mean, I’m talking about an incredible success. The most successful show.
TED
The Life of Horace?
(A pause.)
JANE
The Ocean of Blood.
(Everyone exclaims, except Robert.)
BILL
No—I don’t believe it.
ROBERT
No, Bill, you see, you don’t understand. I knew exactly what Jane was going to say. The Ocean of Blood is becoming a phenomenon! It’s just amazing.
ANNETTE
Are you talking about that insane show that nobody watches—
ROBERT
Yes!
ANNETTE
—with people who’ve just been—shot or something?—
ROBERT
Yes!
ANNETTE
—the “wound show”??—
ROBERT
Yes, that’s the show, and no one understands the—certain countries just seem to have become addicted to it—I mean, Luxembourg, Singapore, the South Sea Islands—oh my God! It’s their favorite show! . . . You know, here, the people who make that show are completely unknown. I mean, their office is just down the street from ours—and it’s the most run-down, awful, shabby little hut, almost, with an overgrown, ugly little lawn out in front. And the host of the show, Bob Hatfield, he just walks down the street there and goes in the door, and nobody knows who the hell he is. But if Hatfield were to walk down the street in—in—in Bangladesh—well, he couldn’t walk down the street in Bangladesh, there’d be such a mob—
TED
Bob Hatfield the singer?
ROBERT
He’s not spending very much time on his singing these days, I can tell you that.
TED
But you mean to say, it is the same guy?
ROBERT
Oh yes, he used to be with that group—you know, with those people in little vests with those horrible beards—
TED
I’m telling you, bad singers can turn out to be the nastiest people on earth when they stop singing. I could give you a list.
BILL
Elaine Morddren.
TED
Elaine Morddren. One of the worst people on the planet today.
ANNETTE
Ethel Hardwick.
TOM
I will never forget the photograph of Ethel Hardwick when they raided her house and found all those cats—
ANNETTE
Oh, don’t!—please—
TOM
I honestly hadn’t realized cats could look like that—their bodies were flat—they looked like sort of giant furry tadpoles or something . . .
BILL
I’d just about managed to forget that photograph. Thank you, Tom.
TOM
Those poor cats . . .
TED
Bad singers, I’m telling you . . .
(A slight pause. Nellie and Dick come in carrying a cake. Everyone exclaims and gathers around the cake. Annette reads what’s written on it.)
ANNETTE
“Midnight in a Clearing with Moon and Stars” . . .
BILL
Oh Nellie, really, that’s fantastic.
ROBERT
That’s just beautiful, Nellie. Just amazing.
NELLIE
Now, you cut the cake, Mr. Robert. I hope you still like cake.
ROBERT
Oh God help me, I do.
(Improvised words of appreciation as they pass around and taste the cake.)
NELLIE
Now, I think someone should read at least a few words from the play just to mark the occasion, as that’s why you’re all here—don’t you agree, Mr. Robert?
ROBERT
Er—I’m not absolutely sure I do agree, Nellie—I—er—
NELLIE
Well, we’ve kept a copy in the library, of course. (She shows it) Now come along, Mr. Tom—please, for me—read us the speech about the bowl of raspberries. It’s such a wonderful speech.
TOM
Oh no no no, I honestly can’t.
ANNETTE
Oh come on, Tom. We’d love to hear it.
TOM
Good, but please don’t ask me, because I haven’t looked at that script in ten years, and I’m the world’s worst reader, as Robert can tell you. It’s my greatest weakness, really. I’d only embarrass myself and humiliate Robert. Really, I can’t.
TED
So—the author himself will have to read.
ROBERT
I’m afraid that out of respect for the serious writer I used to be, I’m going to have to gracefully decline.
(Nellie, Jane, Ted, and Bill groan.)
BILL
Well, that’s awful. Really.
JANE
Well—what about you, Dick?
DICK
What do you mean, what about me?
JANE
Why don’t you read the speech?
(An uncomfortable silence.)
Come on, Dick. Nellie wants to hear it.
(A pause.)
DICK
Well, of course it’s—it’s awfully hard to measure these things, but that might be the worst idea I’ve heard this year. (He stands up and starts to leave) And as it’s been a very long evening—
TOM
No, come on, Dick. It’s a great idea. Really. It’s fine. (Including the group in a gesture) You see? Look—they’re absolutely clamoring for it.
TED
Absolutely.
(Jane leads Nellie, Ted, and Bill in a very brief chant.)
JANE, NELLIE, TED, AND BILL
Dick! Dick!
(Dick looks to Robert, who sort of smiles and shrugs.)
DICK
Well, in memory of a fine play, and of relationships that seemed at one time to hold much promise—I humbly—
(Nellie shows Dick the proper place in the script, Dick puts on his spectacles, moves into the light. Then he begins. He reads at an unrushed pace, clearly and well, looking around at the group at appropriate moments as if they were the other characters.)
“My friends, the king has spoken, so what can I add to what’s been said? I love him and respect him, and it’s been an honor to serve him during a moment such as this, when the fate of all we’ve stood for seemed to be in doubt, and we had no choice but to once again fight for it all with all our strength. Who would have dreamed that the Marmidons, over whom we’ve ruled for so long with wisdom and forbearance, would seek to plunge a knife into our breast? Or that our former friend Beltramidon would ever choose to betray our trust? No matter. Beltramidon lies now on the open slab of stone where I cut him down and ran him through with this humble blade with its wooden hilt. (He raises his arm to indicate a sword) Maggots run back and forth in the wounds I carved into his once-mighty body. And so tonight, we feast. In the black enormous pits outside, the golden antelopes have been placed on burning wood, covered in the skins of oranges and lemons, the heavy pungent herbs, the dark spices, cloves and berries, seeds and silver leaves carried on our bright white ships from far away. The meat of the golden antelope, friends, is known by tradition as the warrior’s meat, yet our great poet has described it as ‘so delicate, so sweet, and so tender that a small child can eat ten dishes of it’—and when the antelopes start to crackle on the flames and send forth into the air their delicious, penetrating scent, all the wild dogs for miles around will begin to rush towards us from every corner of the forest. The golden antelope, preeminently, of course, is the meat of triumph, and indeed we dare to say out loud, ‘We’ve won, my friends. Against tremendous odds, we’ve won.’ And what an honor for me to be offered this wonderful seat beside the glorious ruler who has secured for every one of us the hope of serenity and the treasures of the earth. And yet—forgive me, my king, and forgive me, friends: at this high moment, I beg to take my leave of you. My messengers tell me that across the lake in the land of Garmore, Queen Amendra finds herself threatened by a murderous tribe. She needs my help. So tomorrow morning, I must set out on another journey. And tonight, I must rest. I won’t be staying for this marvelous feast. Instead, I’m going home to sit alone, by my own fire, and while all of you taste the intoxicating flesh of the golden antelope, I shall sit in my armchair with a bowl of raspberries, which will offer me more than sustenance enough to carry me happily into a long untroubled sleep. My dear companions—may you long continue to protect each other and take delight in each other, while I head out down my separate path.”
(He looks up from the book. A brief silence.)
TED
Bravo. Marvelous.
(Everyone applauds.)
BILL
Yes indeed.
TOM
Damn—I never did the speech that well. Never.
JANE
Wonderful.
NELLIE
That brings it all back. Thank you so much, Dick.
(They sit in silence for a moment.)
DICK
Well, thank you all very much. You’re being much too kind.
NELLIE
So. Shall we all have some coffee in the library?
(Nellie takes Dick’s arm and leads everyone out, except for Robert, who sits silently in his chair, sipping his drink, and Jane, who also remains behind. The group improvises comments as they leave. Robert is drunk, Jane not entirely sober either. They sit silently for a while.)
JANE
You know, I’m so worried about Dick. I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be allowed to live. (Robert doesn’t reply) I mean, everyone’s obviously incredibly tolerant of him because everyone really loved that show—it was such a great show—but at a certain point people do lose patience. I mean, everyone loved José’s show too, but that only helped José up to a certain point.
ROBERT
José? What do you mean? What happened to José?
JANE
You don’t know about it?
ROBERT
No—what do you mean?—
JANE
Well, you remember his best friend on the show was the neighbor, Ned, played by Renfield Matthews, who was also José’s best friend in real life. Well, at a certain moment, Renfield just decided things had reached that point, and he got together this group of eight or ten people who’d all really loved José over all those years, and they went to his apartment, and well—they were really rough with him—you know, they cut him with knives, and I mean, very brutal cuts—
ROBERT
Oh—I hadn’t—
JANE
—and then they took him out into the street in front of all of his neighbors and killed him.
ROBERT
Mm. My goodness. I didn’t know. My God.
(They sit for a moment.)
So what did they finally do, shoot him?
JANE
Oh no, they hanged him. A terrible hanging, one of the worst.
(A silence. Robert keeps drinking steadily. Jane drinks along with him.)
ROBERT
You see, the difficulty about Dick is that Dick’s show was so long ago that the younger people have never even heard of it, really. So, that’s very unhelpful for Dick. And then, you see, unfortunately, after the show, Dick didn’t do anything. By the time we all knew him, he was doing absolutely nothing, you see. I mean, I saw him once or twice in a Baldwin play—Bob Baldwin liked him—but very small parts, you know, nothing anyone would remember.
JANE
Right. Right.
ROBERT
And of course my problem with Dick was that I just never thought he was a very good actor, that was my problem from the very beginning. I mean, I hate to say it, because I know you’re fond of him, but that’s just the way I’ve always felt. Maybe it wasn’t even his acting, I don’t know. I just never enjoyed watching him, I’m sorry to say. He wasn’t terribly likable, I always felt. I didn’t particularly like him, you see.
JANE
Well, so much depends on the roles a person is offered. He—
(They fall into a long silence.)
I mean, obviously Dick was great on his show. He was so good as Chico! So the—
ROBERT
You see, I didn’t think he was really that good. I’m sorry. I didn’t. I mean, that—you know, that smile?—the “Chico smile”?—a lot of people found that charming, but I didn’t, I must say, I thought it was just an awful smile. I mean, I suppose I’m saying that I happened to find him quite unappealing. Was it his appearance? His personality? I’m really not sure. I didn’t enjoy him, I’d have to say.
JANE
Really. Really.
ROBERT
I mean, I know you like him, and I must say, he read that speech tonight very well, he did. I mean, he always had some sort of flair, of course. He had something. I’m not going to say he had no talent at all. But I just never thought he was a very good actor, and every time I watched that show, I honestly thought to myself, Well, I think this whole show would be a good deal funnier if they had someone else playing the part of Chico. Chico was always the weak link to me. Was Dick just not very believable somehow—or was it that the way he played him, Chico came off as not terribly sincere? I don’t know. But I certainly didn’t have that feeling of, “Yes, I really want to see more of this person. Watching him is fun, I love to watch him . . .”
JANE
Sure. I get it. (Silence) I mean, obviously Ralph Hirst was the one who made the show . . .
ROBERT
Sure, obviously. That’s why people watched the show. Ralph and Hannah.
JANE
Right. Right.
(A silence.)
ROBERT
And I’m not sure I see the point of Nellie letting Dick stay here overnight at The Talk House. Do you? Seriously? I mean, to be very honest—I worry about Nellie. It doesn’t look that great. Quite a few people would actually be repelled by her doing that, you know.
JANE
By her doing what? You mean—
ROBERT
I mean, isn’t it a statement? Like, “I think Dick is a person whom I admire a great deal”? “And that’s why I’m letting him live at the club”?
JANE
Well, he doesn’t live here. He’s staying here for a few nights. He doesn’t live here.
ROBERT
He doesn’t?
JANE
No!—
ROBERT
Well, where does he live then?
JANE
He lives in his own apartment.
ROBERT
So, Nellie’s sort of hiding him, then, from the people who beat him.
JANE
What?
ROBERT
Isn’t that what you’re saying?
JANE
Hiding him? You think she’s hiding him? Look, she’s taking care of him for a few days. No one’s hiding anyone. He isn’t hidden. He’s right upstairs.
ROBERT
He’s not living at his own address, is all I’m saying. A person’s friends ought to be able to know where he is, and I wonder if his friends are aware that he happens to be here. That’s the point I was trying to make—it’s not all that complicated.
JANE
You mean—
ROBERT
See, if someone went to his apartment to find him, would there be any indication there that he happens to be here?
JANE
Well, I really don’t know—I—
ROBERT
You see, that’s my point. Because it’s bad enough that he’s here in the first place, but at least it should be clear that no one’s keeping him here because they don’t want people to know where he is. Do you know what I mean? So someone ought at least to leave some sort of very clear notification over at his apartment, wherever the hell that is, that would state very clearly that if you’re looking for Dick, you can find him here.
JANE
Yes, that’s a good idea. I see what you mean.
ROBERT
Because otherwise you run into the whole question of, Is Nellie “hiding” him?
JANE
Yes. Right.
ROBERT
Because that would be . . .
(A long silence. Jane speaks suddenly:)
JANE
All right, look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I owe you an apology—I’m very sorry. Ted called, he said you all wanted to come over here—and I just thought, What a nice idea. Then I talked to Nellie—she was totally delighted. We just got terribly excited about the idea of Tom and you coming to the club. We just didn’t think. The fact that Dick was here—we didn’t even think about it. It didn’t cross our minds. That may seem hard to believe, but it’s the truth. We behaved like idiots. Complete idiots. We should never have let you come here. I’m sorry.
ROBERT
What are you—?—
JANE
Dick—you—in the same building—bad idea. Bad. Bad.
ROBERT
Don’t be ridiculous—I’m—
JANE
You’re an important person now, you’re a public person. And Tom, my God. I must have been completely out of my mind. No one should see either of you here in the same building as someone like Dick. I mean, that sort of thing wouldn’t even occur to Nellie. But I should have thought of it. It’s completely my fault. It’s—
ROBERT
Jane! Stop. You’re almost insulting me now. I’m angry at you for even thinking like this. It was not a mistake to have us here. I’m not remotely concerned about being seen with Dick. I’ll walk down the street holding hands with Dick—it doesn’t bother me at all. Dick is a completely harmless, pitiful person, and I’m sure that absolutely everybody knows that, and I don’t think for a minute that anyone’s the least bit worried about Dick.
JANE
His friends were worried—they beat him up. They—
ROBERT
Don’t be silly—they gave him a warning. That means nothing. Just calm down. Everything’s fine.
JANE
God, you’re such a hypocrite. How disgusting. How nauseating. Yes, you’re very dishonest—I remember that now.
ROBERT
Really? Do you? (Pause) You see, I only remember the physical things. I only remember the way it felt when we—Only the physical things. (She is silent) I said, I remember the physical things. You know—do you remember the—the physical—experiences we had? Do you remember the—sexual experiences—the—?—
JANE
No I don’t.
ROBERT
You don’t remember the times when we—?—
JANE
No I’m sorry, I don’t.
ROBERT
You’re lying, obviously.
JANE
Will you please stop it?
ROBERT
Because for me, you see, those were very important experiences. They were great, for me. Great. Extraordinary. As a matter of fact, when I think about my life, when I look back on—
JANE
For God’s sake, will you please stop! It’s been so many years—so many years since I’ve touched another person in that way! Oh my God, what possible benefit do you think I would get from thinking about all that? Do you think I would enjoy reminiscing about the times when I— (She makes sounds of vomiting) yuck!—yuck!—I feel so cold, I feel so sick—I’m so ready to die now, I am so ready, and I’m so bored, just waiting here month after month after month. Everybody else is begging to live, and I’m just begging, “Please get me out of here! Please! Please!” (She laughs) I’m totally involved in targeting, too, since everybody’s talking about it. I thought it was supposed to be something absolutely secret—I guess I was wrong about that too, since it’s apparently everybody’s favorite topic of conversation. Yes, I do it every afternoon. I’m good at it, I guess. Every afternoon, all day Saturday, all day Sunday. It’s totally sickening, it’s totally boring, but Nellie can hardly pay me enough to cover my laundry, The Talk House is broke, I’m sorry to tell you. Of course I’d much rather be working on a show. I’d greatly prefer to be working on a show, but I’ve completely given up hope of that—I’m just not that funny, and I know that Rudolph doesn’t find me attractive, and people used to tell me that Chuck did find me attractive, but I know that Chuck is nothing these days. Everyone says he’s absolutely nothing.
ROBERT
Believe me, he’s hardly doing any better than you are yourself. He’s still sitting in that great big office, but he’s utterly ignored, he can’t help you at all, no matter how attractive he thinks you are.
JANE
Yes, that’s what I just said.
ROBERT
Obviously I find you attractive, I always have, but I haven’t been able to help you either, as you know very well. Rudolph simply won’t—
JANE
It doesn’t matter. I honestly don’t care. I’m past all that now.
ROBERT
I would have liked to help you.
JANE
Right. You said that.
ROBERT
I think you’re attractive, I think you’re funny, and I honestly think you have talent as an actress. But you haven’t been successful. It’s terrible, really. And the murdering? The targeting? I hate to see you doing all that. I wish I could help you. I’m—I’m going to try to find you at least a small part, something that Rudolph wouldn’t have to approve, because when it comes to Rudolph—
JANE
Don’t bother. Seriously. Please—really, don’t. You’ll only make yourself look like an idiot, and I don’t care how small the part is, Rudolph is going to step in and say no, so it won’t do me any good, and it won’t do you any good. No one can get me on any show at all, because fucking Rudolph doesn’t like me, and that’s that. If I were a bit funnier, I might have had a chance on Henry’s show, because Henry liked me, but he told me flat out, “I really like you, but you’re not quite funny enough to be on the show.”
ROBERT
What an ass he is . . . I think you’re very funny, and if I had control of our show, I swear to God—
JANE
The only thing I’d like, what would really please me, would be to be dead. That I would like. That I would love. That’s what I think about. I want to be dead. I just think that all the time. “I want to be dead. I want to be dead.”
(Pause.)
ROBERT
Do you seriously not remember the sexual thing?
JANE
Of course I remember it, but it doesn’t make me happy to think about it now. It doesn’t make me happy to think about playing in the park with my mother either. I don’t want to think about things like that.
ROBERT
So you don’t get pleasure from reliving the past? For me, that’s the greatest pleasure in life. The past was great, and I love to think about it.
JANE
Well, you’re very lucky.
ROBERT
Right. I’m sorry. (Silence) So when you say, “I’d like to be dead,” I mean, do you— (He falls silent)
JANE
Yes, thanks for asking. No. I honestly don’t know if I have what it takes to kill myself. I’ve thought it all through, all the different ways, I always imagine my instincts stopping me at the last moment . . . I don’t want them to, but—
ROBERT
Right . . . Yes . . .
JANE
To be absolutely frank, what I dream about is the possibility of just walking out of The Talk House late one night, walking down the street, and without my even noticing it, having someone shoot me in the back of the neck. One shot in just the right place. Don’t tell me yes or no, but if you happen to have the ability to make that happen, I’d be very grateful. (A silence) You know, they did that to Arnold. It happened to Arnold, and it happened to Winnie. And they finally did it to Allison, just last year. But obviously those are all pretty important people, you know, they’re public figures, really. Arnold was, certainly. And I’m way down there. No one knows who I am, so it’s hard for me to imagine that they’d—
ROBERT
Well, come on—I mean, you’re not completely unknown. I mean, Mouse Chatter certainly had some kind of a following. There are definitely people who would know you from that.
(They sit silently for a while. Then Tom, Ted, Bill, Nellie, Annette, and Dick come in. A moment of silence.)
Nellie, you wonderful creature. We’ve had a great evening here, and we’ve all loved it.
NELLIE
Well, thank you, dear. You should come here more often, all of you, really.
TED
Nothing could be nicer, and we’ll really try to.
NELLIE
(To Tom and Robert) And I’m sure some of the people from your show would like it here, too. Damn, I can’t stop using the bathroom this evening, I’m so sorry.
(Nellie heads off to the bathroom. A silence.)
JANE
Nellie’s right, absolutely. Some of the people from your show would have a great time here, I think. I mean, I’ve never met him, obviously, but wouldn’t Timmy Barette, for example, like the atmosphere here? He seems like such an interesting, sort of refined person . . .
TOM
Well—
ROBERT
(Laughs harshly) Ha ha ha! Timmy Barette! Ha ha ha! A refined person! Ha ha ha! No, that’s the misconception about Timmy Barette. Let me tell you, Timmy Barette is one of the filthiest barnyard animals you’ll ever meet in your life. Ha ha ha! Timmy Barette is like a sort of tiny head sitting on top of—on top of an enormous dick! Ha ha ha ha! You do not want to bring Timmy Barette to dinner at The Talk House. Ha ha ha! You do not—
JANE
Oh, all right, stop! I guess—I guess—I guess Timmy Barette wasn’t a great idea, was he?
(They all laugh.)
As everyone always says, you can never guess an actor’s real personality from watching him play a character, can you?
BILL
Certainly not.
TED
No—
ANNETTE
No—not really—
ROBERT
No, you can’t. You certainly can’t. Except in the case of Tom, of course. Tony’s a lovely guy, and so is Tom—aren’t you, Tom?
TOM
I’m not sure, I can’t remember anymore.
JANE
(Raising her glass to Tom) Let’s all drink to a lovely guy!
TOM
Thank you, dear.
(The others murmur, “Hear hear.” Nellie comes back from the bathroom.)
NELLIE
God— Please excuse me. (To Dick) Now, I was trying to think of that hilarious sound Daphne Albright made. Wasn’t it sort of—“erk erk erk”—
DICK
Yes, exactly!
NELLIE
“Erk erk erk”— (She laughs) ha ha ha— “Erk erk erk”— “erk erk erk”—“erk erk erk”—
(Nellie wanders offstage.)
JANE
(Shouting to Nellie) I think we’ve got the idea, Nellie.
NELLIE
(Offstage) “Erk erk erk”—
(The lights flicker. Robert, Annette, Tom, Bill, Ted, Dick, and Jane look off toward Nellie. A long silence in which we hear Nellie:)
“Erk erk erk” . . . “erk erk erk” . . .
BILL
(To Jane) I think you should go see if something’s wrong with her.
JANE
What do you mean?
TOM
I think we’ve exhausted her. (To Annette) Go and see if she’s all right.
(Annette shrugs and heads out after Nellie. In the silence we still hear Nellie:)
NELLIE
(Offstage) . . . “erk erk erk” . . .
(Her sounds slowly diminish in volume. The lights sort of tremble and start to fade.)
ROBERT
(To the group) I’ll tell you a story about Timmy Barette . . .
JANE
No, please don’t. I’m very sorry I brought him up! Really. Please.
ROBERT
You don’t want to hear it?
JANE
No, no, go ahead . . .
(We hear a faint cry from Nellie offstage.)
ROBERT
Well, the first part of the story isn’t really that bad. I don’t know if I’ll even tell you the second part.
(Annette comes back in. Everybody looks at her.)
What?
(As Annette gestures offstage and tries to speak, the lights slowly flicker and then slowly go out.)
END