by Darren Blaney and Kristina Goodnight
© April 2003, Darren Blaney and Kristina Goodnight
all rights reserved
Production History:
A satire of post-9/11 American life, “What the Hell is Going on Here?” was originally conceived and written in San Francisco in 2002. It was first produced at the University of California, Santa Cruz's Chautauqua Festival, in May of 2003. The production ran for two weeks over the course of the festival, and was favorably reviewed in two local Santa Cruz papers.
Bios of the Playwrights:
Ms. Kristina Goodnight holds a B.A. in Drama from U.C. Davis and an M.F.A. in Playwriting from St. Mary's College. She has had plays produced in San Francisco: at Playground, Women's Will, and Guilty Theatre, and at several theatres in New York. She also won the June Anne Baker Prize through which she was commissioned to write a full-length play. A partial list of her plays includes The Eve Generation, A Perfect Human Being, Letterophilia, The Bandersnatch, and The Queen of Fruitcake.
A writer, actor, and performance artist, Darren Blaney’s work has been presented in the Bay Area at the San Francisco Fringe Festival, Monday Night at the Marsh, The Mock Café, Works San Jose, Shotwell Studios, Kvetch, Piaf's Q-Comedy, City College's Solo Festival as well as the Chautauqua Festival at U.C. Santa Cruz. Darren has taught theater history and acting at UCSC, UCD, and Pomona College. He holds a Ph.D. in Dramatic Art from U.C. Davis and a B.A. from Reed College. His has studied Meisner Technique, Acting, and Improvisation at American Conservatory Theater, Bay Area Theater Sports ,Running Dog Studios, and University of California, Santa Cruz.
ORIGINAL PRODUCTION CREDITS:
Director: Jeremy Aaron Karafin
Stage Manager: Ellen Ercolini
Set Designer/Builder/Technical Director: Brett Von Aalsberg
Dramaturge: Patrick Snyder
Lighting Designer: Daniel Kahn
Sound Designer: Susan St. John
Choreographer: Kira Friedman
Cast:
Tina: Darchelle Brunson
Bradley: Tynan Davis
Glenda: Krys Nelson
Osama: Jude Evans
Washington: David Greene
Ella: Valentina Torres
Ella’s younger self: Lily Lange Pegueros
Jeremy: Yoshi Hedges
Tommy: Leiandrea Layus
Mr. Fennerton Chase Appetite: David Strock
George W. Bush: Evan Hamilton
The Characters:
Tina, a Soccer Mom, wife, and older sister. A practical no-nonsense woman who put her Art on hold in order to start a family. She is Black and is married to a corporate white executive. She has been reflecting recently and has begun to question her life. She wears jeans, sneakers, and a blue and white gingham short-sleeved blouse. A modern "Dorothy" from the Wizard of Oz. Energetic and trim.
Glenda, the Good Witch of the West, an intellectual who's going Places. Getting her Ph.D. is the most important thing to her. She wears a big pink frothy prom dress, very fancy, like Glinda in "The Wizard of Oz", with a tiara and black combat boots. Often, her movements and voice are a parody of Billie Burke’s. Occasionally, for emphasis, she speaks in an affected Eastern European accent, like a gypsy. Mature and agile. Could be played by a tall dark-haired woman from Arizona.
Osama, whose only chance of survival depends on his ability to procure some decent publicity. Wears a cowboy hat over his turban. A deluded wizard.
Ella, from Mexico. A woman of faith who is seeking community. A strong and fierce middle-aged radical, a contemporary of Glenda. Wears a red flower behind her ear. An earth mother and lioness.
Ella's younger self. An anamnesis. A wanted daughter. Ethereal and sensual.
Bradley, a materialistic minimalist sculptor from Manhattan. Brother to Tina. Stylishly dressed in black. Greedy and fast-talking. Often bathed in green light.
Washington, a former Black Panther who is having trouble finding work because of his criminal record. He can't afford his daughter's African Dance lessons and feels guilty about it. Tough-looking in a beret and leather bomber jacket. A huge, yet rusty, heart.
Mr. Fennerton Chase Appetite, a corporate white executive. Married to Tina. He only cares about his career, his wife, and their son, Tommy. A bit overweight. A proletariat who thinks he's upper class. Oh-ee-oh. Oh-hum.
Tommy, Tina's 10-year-old son, a potential genius. Sideways baseball cap. Big glasses. Baggy shorts. Could be played by a short Asian-American woman with a huge lovable energy and a big voice. A miniature genius with spit curls.
Jeremy, a gay Asian-American hipster with a cocaine problem who dreams of poetry and romance. He is planning on heading up to Alaska to fish. He wants to save some money so that he can take time off to write. Speaks sometimes in slam poetry. May be played by a pretty gay man or a female performer in drag. Very brainy. Good at falling.
George W. Bush, an incompetent waiter. He always serves the upper classes first, hoping for a big tip. Wears a turban occasionally. A mask should be used to clarify the character’s identity. A flying monkey.
Intro Music: “Tryin’ Times” as sung by Roberta Flack. Fades out a minute before curtain, then as the audience settles in their seats, we hear a Native American chant, spiritual and percussive. Lights down. A half-minute before curtain, a tape-loop of Judy Garland's voice repeating the words from the last line of The Wizard of Oz, "there's no place like– there's no place like– there's no place like– there's no place like–" blends into the Native American chant, building and eventually overpowering it. It repeats like a skip in a record, driving everyone crazy, until Tina changes the channel on the radio. This maddening hypnotic effect of the tape-loop will help lure the audience into the surreal world of the play.
Scene 1
Opening scene: a highway in a vast plain in the middle of the desert. It's a dreamy place, lots of clouds and strange plants, thorny but flowering, springtime in America. The setting could be suggested with some non-slippery sand and maybe a slide projection of the desert. The Soccer Mom, Tina, is on her way to the elementary school to pick up her son Tommy. (Her car could be a makeshift contraption on wheels and is pushed along the stage by an actor wearing black.) She listens to NPR. We hear a news headline about the latest conflict in the Middle East. She changes the channel and there's a program with Angela Davis speaking about feminism. She changes again and there's a public service announcement about environmentalism and what you can do to help make the air cleaner. She changes the channel again and it's the same Native American chant that opened the play. She turns the dial once more and hears the song "Stand by Your Man". Once more, she changes the channel and we hear President George W. Bush talking. He makes a grammatical error. She grimaces and turns off the radio.
Tina looks at her watch. She realizes she's a bit late. She looks at the fuel gauge and notices she's almost out of gas. She pulls the car off to the side of the road, downstage right, and picks up her cell phone. This is the final straw. She thinks about calling Bradley, her brother in New York, wondering if she should ask him for some of the money that she helped him earn. She wants to leave her husband and start a new life, and maybe Bradley can help her.
Scene 2
Tina: (To the audience.) This time, it's going to be different.
Resignedly, she dials Bradley. From the opposite upstage left corner of the stage, we see her brother, Bradley, attempting to answer his phone. Bradley's dog is barking at him, peeing on one of his sculptures, in his fabulous SoHo loft. Bradley is pleading with him to shut up; kicking him aside as he gets himself tangled in his phone cord.
Bradley: C'mon Lucky, I just finished that piece last wee-eek…! It hasn't even dried yet. Hey Tina, sorry. The dog was just peeing on my new sculpture. Anyway, the opening last night was a smashing success. Your advice about hiring a PR company this time may make all the difference: I think the reviews are going to be amazing! At this rate, my prices will sky rocket by the end of the week!
Tina: Great reviews…? So, I was right after all, the frames made from recycled bicycle pedals struck a chord, huh?
Bradley: Yeah, I guess so. The problem is, apparently one of my concepts appeared in last month's issue of Art Forum and now I'm facing a copyright infringement case. Julian Schnabel wants to sue me for everything I'm worth, and I've only just made my first million! What the hell am I going to do?
Tina: (Calmly) Well, you could--
Bradley: I mean, my friends are telling me that Julian's claims won't stand up in court…
Tina: Hey, do you think, you know, I was wondering, since I gave you the idea for the sculpture in the first place--
Bradley: (not listening to her) You're right. I have options. I don't have to get stressed out about this.
Tina: If I was ever low on cash, that you might be able to--
Bradley: (yelling at his dog): Lucky! You're headed straight for the pound at this rate!
Tina: Look Bradley, as much as I'd love to chat with you about this in greater detail, I'm late picking up Tommy after soccer practice, my gas tank is on "E", I'm in the middle of the desert, and…. I think I want to divorce Fennerton. But enough about me. You were saying you've got a lawsuit on your hands?
Bradley: (Ignoring her comment about divorce) Yeah, and I really have no idea what to do. After all, you can't copyright subjectivity! You can't copyright a color, can you?
Tina: I'll call you on Sunday. I have a favor I'll need to ask you when you're more relaxed. (She hangs up the phone.)
Scene 3
Tina tries to start the car again, but it won't turn over. Sound effects. The tank is out of gas. Glenda drives by, again in a makeshift car on wheels pushed by actors wearing black. Osama is in the car with her. They are listening to an anti-capitalist Sonic Youth song. ("Kool Thing" from the album Goo. The bridge in the song, where Kim Gordon and Chuck D. commiserate about "white male corporate oppression.") Glenda brings the car to an abrupt halt. Music fades after two lines.
Osama: (from out the window) Looks like you've gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle.
Glenda: (opening her car door) God, you're so predictable, you're always assuming the worst.
Tina: I ran out of gas. (recognizing him) Nevermind…!
Glenda: We want to help you. Don't mind him, he's harmless. I'm Glenda….
Tina: I'm sorry, but how can you help me?
Osama: (using a toothpick, adopting a casual confident pose) Are you doubting my ability to get things accomplished? Getting the ball rolling has never been an issue for me. Ask Glenda, she'll tell you what I'm capable of….
Glenda: (Waving off his idle threats, searching her trunk for more the spare gas can) Your biggest problem is that you always think it takes a man to get the job done. Haven't you read any of the Second Sex that I lent you? (to Tina) I've been trying to expose him to some new horizons.
Osama: I have some gas, if you want it….
(Beat.)
Tina: Pardon me for being so nosey, but I have to ask: how did you two meet up anyway?
Osama: That's not important, little lady. Let's just see if we can get your car moving again, Ok? We'll talk more later.
Tina: (She wants them to stop seeing her as helpless.) Look. I'm late. I'll admit, I could use your help. But as much as I'd like to understand your point of view, right now, I don't have much time to chat. (To Glenda) Can you hand me the funnel please? (To Osama, bravely.) And by the way, I'm not your "little lady". I know what I'm doing here. I've done this a million times before.
She begins pouring the gas into the mouth of the actor pushing her car, who guzzles it happily and greedily.
Osama: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you.
Tina: You didn't. You just caught me off guard is all… put yourself in my shoes. It's not every day that Osama bin Laden and some woman who apparently thinks she's the next Simone de Beauvoir stop to offer me a free can of gas.
Osama: Nothing is completely free. I thought you capitalist Americans knew that.
Glenda: Osama. Babe. Relax. Deep breaths. Remember the Yoga classes. At this rate, you'll never get anywhere. You have to stay in the moment here and take one baby step at a time. If you don't listen to me, you're gonna end up throwing off the whole balance and our plans will fly away like a tumbleweeds in a sandstorm..!
Osama: (Relaxing) Well. I wouldn't want that to happen... Yes. We must sustain this delicate balance. (Taking the can away from Tina, using a funnel to pour the gas into her tank, again into the mouth of the actor pushing the car.) Don't worry, they trained me how to do this in CIA training camp. A real practical education, huh? Maybe next summer, I should learn how to surf.
Glenda: (in another world, downstage left) I was having a lot more fun in Paris.
Osama: Oh no, oh no, here she goes again! Please Glenda, don't start up with that again! When you asked me if you could interview me for your dissertation I said I'd do it, as long as we could get the hell out of Europe. It was getting difficult for me to stay there, all my plastic surgery appointments were getting canceled right and left, and then you offered to take me here. So who's fault is it we're in this mess, huh?
Glenda: (still in another world) I'm not sure if I even know how to enjoy myself anymore.
Osama: Is satisfaction the most important thing to you? Don't you think that there's more to the human spirit than a quest for pleasure? Or are we only what we do?
Glenda: Oh wow, look who's getting all philosophical on me now….! You know that the most important things to me at this point in my life are TRUTH and BEAUTY.
Center stage, Osama turns toward Mecca and prays in the traditional manner of Salat. The actor portraying Osama should perform this action with absolute sincerity, giving thanks to Allah for the simplest things in life.
That and getting my PhD before I turn forty. (Suddenly turning to Tina.) What do you think beauty is?
Tina: Well, I don’t know, I've often told my brother that he needs to find beauty in everything around him. That he can't afford to ignore even the dumpster in the alley outside his apartment because only by clearly looking at the things or the people we've started to disregard as ruined or beyond hope will we heal ourselves.
Osama: What about people?
An uncomfortable beat.
Glenda: (to Osama) To answer your question, we are all interconnected. Our action constitutes who we are. And when we feel pleasure we become part of the GOOD that exists in the universe.
Osama: You think that pleasure is good? It's that simple for you, huh? If it feels good, it must be good?
Glenda: Stop twisting my words. What I mean is, good isn't something outside of you. The core inside us is goodness, and I believe that even you possess this, despite your terrorist past. The reason we must respect each other is because WE are collective. Of course there's always something going on in your individual brain that nobody else sees… We live so much in our heads, you know? That's the problem –
Osama: Nobody communicates anymore. (bitterly) We only distract each other from our "work".
Glenda: We forget that at the root of us, there's a fundamental chord that connects us to every human being on earth. We seek God, but we forget that good is already within us.
Osama: I don't know if you realize what I'm capable of…
Glenda: Sometimes I wonder if I'm dating the right person….
Osama: You should count yourself as lucky to even have a boyfriend.
Glenda: (Challenging him) At this point I'd be happy if a man who really satisfied me turned up as a prize in a Cracker Jack box!
Osama: You don't eat Cracker Jacks.
Glenda: I'm being metaphorical darlink… Call me crazy, but I just had an idea. Why don't we head back to the diner we passed about a quarter mile back, order a few veggie-burgers, and… kick back for a few minutes. (Suddenly excited, to Tina) Do you draw?
Tina: Excuse me?
Glenda: You have the gaze of an artist.
Tina: Why would you say that?
Glenda: I saw the way you were looking at him.
Tina: That is Osama bin Laden. Who wouldn't be a bit scrutinizing?
Glenda: No, it's something else. You're an artist.
Tina: Not anymore. My brother is the one who made it.
Glenda: Maybe you can do a few sketches over a milkshake and some fries, huh, what do you say?
Tina: (Exhausted, nearing the end of her wits, but surprisingly calm.)
Well, it's not everyday I come into contact with celebrities…I'm going to call my husband and see if he can pick up Tommy and then meet us at the diner. It's been so long since I've had the chance to just LOOK, let the pencil glide across the page, and SEE.
Well, it's not everyday I come into contact with celebrities…I'm going to call my husband and see if he can pick up Tommy and then meet us at the diner. It's been so long since I've had the chance to just LOOK, let the pencil glide across the page, and SEE.
They exit arm-in-arm, skipping like Dorothy and her friends from The Wizard of Oz. As the stage hands change the set to the diner, “Compared to What” by Roberta Flack plays. Lights fade to black during set change.
Scene 4
In the diner. Upstage right, there is a sign hanging, “The Rogue Diner", with white stars. The tables are crescent shaped, and form a half-circle on the stage, with high bar stools. Red, white and blue. Downstage left, Jeremy sits at a table by himself, reading a magazine and quietly doing lines of coke in the shadows, listening to the other characters. Washington has just said something that Ella found insulting. There is a power struggle between them because they both feel like they have been the most burned by the U.S. government.
Ella: Listen, bendejo, if you are going to insult me I want you to know something first. I am not impressed with you. You say you are a panther.
Washington: Was. Now I am Washington.
Ella: Washington. He was a "founding father" of your country, no? Well, I think you would not even be able to find my country on the map. It is so oscuro from the shadows of your great big country that it can only be found if you want to listen to the voices of people that try to speak between the pauses of gunfire and the politicos of your country telling lies about how they tried to save us from ourselves. And even if you found my country on a map you would not see people like me or like mi padre or mi hermano or muchos de mis primos because we are hiding in the altiplano, in the jungle, under the ground, in the cielo with El Senor and—
Washington: In my country?
Ella: I am not hiding. I do not hide. I am…looking.
Washington: For what exactly?
Ella: I am looking…for the house that was bought with the money that was made from the crops that my family cultivated for the one who does not even know the difference between a plantain and a banana– on land we made the grave mistake of saying we did not own– because we were taught that no one would ever try to steal a deed away from Madre Tierra herself.
Washington: Tell me about it, princess. (Sings a line of "Day's never finished, massa's got me workin'") I know about Aztlan. You're fierce, you know that? Maybe we should join forces– I need some of your kind of energy around me more often. I get so complacent sometimes, too tired out. But I'm not hiding either, my sweet… beauty. I'm looking too. Do you want to know what I'm looking for?
Ella: Try me papi.
Washington: Well, at the moment I'm trying to come up with enough money to pay some white collegiate hippy dude to give African Dance lessons to Hope.
Ella: Who?
Washington: Hope. My daughter. What do you think about that?
Ella: Pretty ironic, hombre. I think your priorities are a little bit messed up.
Washington: I just get so tired of all the uptight people who look at me in the checkout line at Safeway… suspecting me…
Glenda enters first from a door upstage right, followed by Tina and Osama a few moments later. They slip quietly into a booth. Tina procures her sketchpad from a knapsack and starts sketching the room, particularly interested in Osama.
Washington: (pointing to Glenda) I guarantee she doesn't know how it feels to be a person of color who's poor.
Ella: Sometimes rich people are miserable too.
Washington: Yeah, but at least they can afford to drown their sorrows in expensive Bloody Marys on First Class International Flights.
Ella: Estoy de acuerdo.
Monologue 1: Washington
Washington: Did you know that I have a Master's Degree, and I can't get a job teaching kindergarten because I have a criminal record for my involvement with the Panthers over twenty five years ago? My great-great-great-grandparents were kidnapped and dragged here in chains, they were slaves for generations, over a hundred and thirty years ago they were "emancipated" …and I spent all that time pursuing an education and I STILL CAN'T VOTE!!
Listen, baby, I'm sorry to complain so much. It's just that I'm tired of getting stopped by the cops…. Followed in stores… talked down to because I "look poor"... Ok, I'll admit it: I was bicycling on the wrong side of the road the other day when the cop stopped me. But that's only because I'm paranoid of being run over from behind by some racist redneck. Especially on those winding back roads, you never know who's going to try and pull a hit and run. I was figuring that at least if I face into the traffic I'd have a chance of seeing ol' Jeb coming, you know?
Sometimes, the racism slaps me right in the face.
Like there was that time that I was in Oregon, doing one of my "diversity training sessions"…. Because there are so few educated people of color up there that they have to pay a guest speaker to fly in and give a talk from 800 miles away….
A patriotic American music clip. George Bush, a waiter, enters upstage left, sees that there are only people of color and women in the restaurant, exits looking like an incompetent nervous klutz. Silence.
Ella: That looked like--
Washington: These days, even George W. works nights. Heard about the big tippers around here.
So anyway, I arrive at the hotel.
The lights brighten harshly and the actors form a circle around him, standing at attention like Black Panther revolutionaries. His arm gestures in this speech are a bit militaristic.
I'm supposed to check myself into the Doubletree in Salem, right? The University told me, "no problem, just walk in and give them your name, and they will have a reservation for you, we'll call it in advance, we'll take care of the bill." So, I'm tired from having been on the road all day, looking forward to relaxing in a nice clean bed, and I'm at the concierge desk, and what do you know? They can't find a reservation for me. Apparently the computer had no record of my name, no record of payment. So, the guy is giving me a hard time: he wants the cash in advance, otherwise they aren't going to let me stay there. The lodging was supposed to be included in my salary: room and board, so I didn't think it would be necessary to carry a wad of bills. The guy behind the desk treated me like I didn't belong there, like I was dirt, even though it was the fault of the people at the University for not making the proper reservation.
So, I asked them if there was anything he could do to HELP me, like for example to call the dude who was supposed to have arranged everything. Well, eventually, he reluctantly somewhat bitterly made the call, and sure enough, worked out the problem: the room should have been paid for in advance. By this point, I'd decided that I didn't want to stay in their fancy hotel. No, I figured, I'd rather stay across the street in a cheap motel. They offered me a room, all apologetic, and I said, "That would be like if this was a bad restaurant and you served me bad food and then after I got sick, gave me tickets for a complimentary meal. I don't think so."
So, I asked them if there was anything he could do to HELP me, like for example to call the dude who was supposed to have arranged everything. Well, eventually, he reluctantly somewhat bitterly made the call, and sure enough, worked out the problem: the room should have been paid for in advance. By this point, I'd decided that I didn't want to stay in their fancy hotel. No, I figured, I'd rather stay across the street in a cheap motel. They offered me a room, all apologetic, and I said, "That would be like if this was a bad restaurant and you served me bad food and then after I got sick, gave me tickets for a complimentary meal. I don't think so."
The lights change back to normal.
Ella: You know, people like you--
Washington: People like me?
Ella: Well, men like you just love to sing a big aria about how hard it was to grow up in this country-- (Washington starts to speak.) And yeah, I know it wasn't easy, but for god's sake, if you can never get past being a victim…la cancion del racismo? Porque?
Washington: Racism happens all the time. Are you denying that?
Ella: No. But maybe asking the right questions is more important than coming up with the answers or recalling bad memories. We need to be asking questions like: how can we build a community? How can we take back our HOME?
Scene 5
Suddenly Fennerton enters with Tommy from the upstage right door. Fennerton is still dressed in his work clothes, very corporate. He is carrying little Tommy, who's actually quite heavy at this age.
Fennerton: Where's my briefcase? How can I review tomorrow's meeting without it? Oh shit, I've done it this time… At this rate they're going to fire me! How am I going to climb the corporate ladder and advance to CEO if I have to leave work early all the time?!?
Tina: Fennerton, it’s not early. It's nearly 8 o'clock. And you usually don’t get home till past nine. It's not every day that I run out of gas…
Fennerton: I know. I'm sorry. It's just that the boss has been putting me under a lot of pressure lately.
Osama: I think I know exactly how you feel. (They sit.)
Glenda: That was a good one.
Tommy: (Whining.) I'm hungry.
Osama: So are a lot of people, kid.
Glenda: Just because you had a tough childhood is no reason to take it out on him.
Osama: You don't know what you're talking about… I'm practically a prince! I had an easy childhood compared to most of the followers of Allah. Besides, he can take a joke…
Tina: (Looking up from her sketchpad.) I think maybe she just means that if your parents had hugged you more often, you wouldn't be in this mess.
Osama: It seems to me that I'm not the only one who's in a mess…
Fennerton: At least I make it home every night to tuck him in…!
Washington: You think that's something to be proud of…? That you spend five minutes a day with your kid?
Osama: Yes, that's the problem with you Americans… You are so concerned with the material world, you lose all touch with your families, you lose sight of the spiritual realm… There is more to life than just attaining things.
Fennerton: Oh, right, look everybody, all the sudden he's casting himself as some kind of holier than than-thou humanitarian!
Glenda: I always told him that what he really needs is a good publicity machine.
Ella: You're a feminist, aren't you?
Glenda: How do you know?
Ella: Takes one to know one. We're a dying breed.
Glenda: I hate to identify myself with a single word.
Ella: But how can a feminist hang out with him? What can you possibly have in common?
Glenda: Well, we both want to change the current power structure…. His methods are more extreme than mine, but we do have similar intentions…
Ella: But if you're a feminist…
Monologue 2: Glenda
Glenda: (Suddenly defensively sarcastic.) A feminist…. Do you want to know something about me? I'll tell you about feminism…
She clears her throat and gestures with her chin to capture everyone’s attention. As the lights change to a more subtle level with a spot on Glenda, the rest of the cast quickly forms a semi-circle around her, sitting Indian style like in kindergarten with their backs to the audience, as she performs this monologue for them, very dramatically. The cast is very attentive to her. It should build from a place of forced calmness through a fake smile to utter hysterical frustration and freedom.
I have survived five years in the public library, a botched abortion, two clinic bombings, seven tear gassings, a swabbing of pepper spray in my eyes, three night stick beatings, a 45 caliber shot to the kneecap, a failed attempt to unchain me from the condemned campus women’s center, house arrest 734 NOW meetings, three League of Women Voters conferences, a two-hour lecture by Camille Paglia, and an actual phone conversation with Dr. Laura Schlessinger, and you know how many times I had sex during that fine era of my life? Two! Once with a bipolar recovering Jehovah’s Witness who stalked me but refused to take his medication because it, “took away his sparkle,” and the other time with my sister’s ex-husband—and if I ever have to hear the words empowerment, solidarity, sisterhood, hegemony, herstory, hormone replacement therapy, womyn spelled with a “y,” quid-pro-quo, oppressor, hostile environment, or inhale china rain incense, eat a salad with green goddess dressing, wear a broomstick skirt, get caught in traffic behind a bumper sticker that says, “Back off, I’m a goddess,” “U.S. out of my uterus,” “Eve was framed,” or “Wild Women Rarely Get the Blues,” hear another new feminist recount her first reading of The Beauty Myth, see a t-shirt with a quote from Patricia Ireland across the sagging, bra-less breasts, meet another woman who loves menstruation because it makes her feel more alive, sit barefoot in a circle to avoid male power dynamics, or receive yet another ticket to attend the latest local production of The Vagina Monologues, I will take my hard cover, special edition annotated copy of The Second Sex and shove it up a wide fleshy feminist ass!
The lights come back up.
Ella: Wow. Ok. I understand…. But working yourself up like that isn't going to help anybody. We need to relax and remember where we've come from, what we have in common… we need to build a community.
Glenda: (Recovering her composure) Ok. Fine. You're right Ella. I do consider myself a feminist, but all I'm saying is that our identities are so much more complex than labels like that, don't you think? It was when I stopped labeling myself that my life finally became interesting. I suppose you're still wondering why I would be hanging out with him. Terrorist, Feminist, Male, Female, Black, White, Gay, Straight, Queer, Bisexual… I think all these labels sound horrible… Classifications have nothing to do with what's inside a person.
Ella: They do not reveal la verdad of what we really need or want, but still you need to have an identity. To know where you come from.
Glenda: You should listen to yourself.
Ella: What's that supposed to mean?
Glenda: At least I'm honest about who I am.
Ella: What the hell do you know about me, gringa?
Glenda: Let's just put it this way: at least I admit it to myself when I'm striking a pose… Anyway, I like him. Get it…?
Tina: (Sensing the tension between them) I think she may have asked only because it seems a little bit ironic that an educated woman like you would be hanging out with the likes of him…
Glenda: What can I say, darlink, I like to surprise people.
Osama: Yes. That's something we have in common.
Fennerton: Well, I for one, am NOT particularly fond of surprises. I like order, organization, logic. I like things to make SENSE. You people sound like a cast of characters from a surrealistic nightmare! Like Gilligan's Island meets Evil Dead II…
Glenda: You obviously don't have pleasant dreams. Or remotely any taste in popular culture. Perhaps you should seek a spiritual advisor. Or… take a Yoga class once in a while. Your soul is on the line, here, Mr. C.E.O.
Washington: (Making fun of Fennerton and trying to scare him.) There's no place like home, there's no place like home, oh Auntie Em, there's no place like home!
Ella: Home is where the heart is.
Glenda: Home is where the art is.
Tommy: Home is where the fart is!
Fennerton: No, no, no, you've all got it wrong…. Home is where the stock-price chart is…!
Tina: That isn't funny.
Scene 6
Jeremy: (Looking up from his magazine, which he's been reading in between doing lines of coke.) I've been listening and I've got to tell you, you people really fascinate me.
Glenda: Why's that? The only thing I care about is beauty...
Tina: Well, it's all around you sister. If you open your eyes.
Ella: No. Remember, even if you see beauty around you, todavia puedes olvidar que esta a dentro de tu corazón.
Jeremy: I think you're making the mistake that there's not room enough for all of you. You know… the Universe is a vast place. It's endless.
The lights fade slightly. Center stage, Osama prays again, facing Mecca.
If it’s big enough to hold planets and stars and whole constellations… Then it’s got to be huge enough to hold all these tiny little thoughts. I mean, did you ever think about how many ideas have transpired in just your ONE BRAIN? I mean, think about it, there are BILLIONS of us on this planet. BILLIONS. And we all are having unique perceptions of things. And we all want a piece of the pie…
Lights back to normal. Suddenly George Bush walks in, carrying a tray like a waiter.
Fennerton: Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I think I'd like to start with a nice tossed salad with bleu cheese dressing, and then work my way up to steak, and then, if there's still room, maybe I'll have a piece of pie. A la mode of course. Three number 6 meals please. With mashed potatoes and gravy, lots and LOTS of gravy, cooked medium rare. And a bottle of your finest wine.
George Bush: Yes sir. Right away sir.
Jeremy: He's so predictable. He always serves the wealthiest customers first.
Washington: He didn't even bother to ask the rest of us what we want.
Fennerton: Sorry about that, I guess I was quicker. All I care about is feeding my family. Tommy had a hard day today, didn't you Tommy? How did soccer practice go? Did you make any goals?
Tommy: I don't like soccer. I'd rather spend my free time designing landscapes and towers, reading Shakespeare, and pretending to be an astronaut.
Tina: Team sports are good for you Tommy.
Fennerton: They build your character and make you a better man.
Tommy: I'm a boy. I don't want to be a man yet.
Ella: (Barely audible.) I wanted a daughter.
Tommy: I want to be an urban planner or a ballerina. Or an architect. Or maybe an inventor. I want to invent a new kind of car. One that doesn't get flat tires.
Tina: Or run out of gas….
Glenda: That's right, kiddo, hold on to that inner child! It's the only way you'll make it out of here alive!
Ella: It's good that he has such a spirit of ingenuity.
Osama: He's going to need it.
Jeremy: Who knows, maybe by the time he's old enough, we'll have everything figured out. People will live in some kind of harmonious symbiosis. We'll stop making so much waste. We'll be concerned with each other's well being.
Washington: (Sarcastically, holding a cigarette lighter like at a concert.) "We are the world, we are the children…" (He lights a cigarette and moves to the table with Osama. They are comrades.)
Ella: We're her children — sons and daughters… We need to get back to our roots and respect the forces that are greater than us! We humans are not the center of the universe. We are sharing this world with our Mother, with Madre Tierra.
Jeremy: (Motioning to his magazine, standing on his chair like a preacher.) Like this sculptor, have you heard of him? There's an article about him… He believes that our perceptions are "PURE". That what we perceive is "REAL". That imagination is our only chance of survival. He's such a con artist, you know? He talks like he was the first person to have an idea. But because he takes a non-political stance, covering himself behind this outdated notion of aesthetics, the corporate art world eats it up. He's become a millionaire since this article came out last month. And his art is crap! Nothing but a mirage, a ruse, he's pulling the wool over everyone's eyes! Meanwhile I have made art for YEARS and I can't even afford a new pair of sneakers…!
He climbs down from the chair and sniffs another line of coke with a small spoon.
Tina: No offense, but this guy you're talking about's my brother.
Jeremy: Sorry lady, I'm just calling it as I see it.
Glenda: I think his pieces are really beautiful. Don't forget that beauty's in the eye of the beholder.
Tina: Don't worry about it. He is kind of a… prick.
Monologue 3a: Bradley w/ Press Agent
The light fades green, on Bradley, now on the phone again, with his press agent. The rest of the cast freezes every time he speaks. They are his sculpture. Sometimes he manipulates them by rearranging their limbs, like an artist creating a tableau.
Bradley: Well then get me a plane ticket… I don’t care! I’ll fly out there and talk to him myself if I have to! Yes, that’s right. I can do the AIDS benefit at 2 on Wednesday, and still make it to the ArtNews interview by 3, no problem. I'll put in a little appearance. Let the paparazzi take a few snapshots and then I'll be out of there. I know it’s across town. That’s what cabs are for. Cabs don’t run out of gas.
Bradley walks through the cast, and gestures to Osama, who rises from his chair and follows Bradley’s hands, as if he were a zombie puppet. As Bradley leads him, Osama faces Mecca and prays center stage.
Not in Manhattan. Anyway, I’ll get my driver to meet me at the Plaza. I know it seems like I’m taking on a lot right now. Don't worry about me! Yeah, I'm stressed, but Larry, that’s what the therapy and the massage appointments are for.... Yes, I know. I know. Well, I don't care what the critics say, I think there’s something really spiritual about them. I know, they always say that. The men always get all the credit.
Bradley walks back offstage. Lights back up. Osama returns to his seat, with a look of defeat.
Scene 7
Tommy: What’s a prick?
Tina: Never mind sweetie.
George Bush: (Very earnest, carrying a tray, clumsy) Here we are, three number 6 meals. Steak from my home state, with mashed taters and LOTS of gravy, cooked but still BLOODY, just as you ordered.
Glenda: He really has a way with words, doesn't he? Really makes your mouth water, huh?
Osama: I've been telling him for years that he needs a personality bypass.
George Bush: Who asked you? You're a very very bad man.
Washington: Well you're a very very bad waiter. I've been sitting here for the past hour and you haven't even noticed me!
Ella: Or me either.
George Bush: (getting flustered) Ju-just a moment, amiga.
Glenda: I'd like a glass of wine when you get a chance.
Washington: If we do nothing to stop him, then our complacency is allowing him to maintain his job. Collectively, he's following our orders…!
George Bush: Uh…did you say wine?
Ella: Well, I didn’t hire him. Fewer than half the people in the restaurant even want him here. People like you and me had nothing to do with his getting the job. In fact, certain factions went out of their way to prevent YOU from having any voice at all.
George Bush: I'm doing the best I can! My mama and daddy say that's all anyone ever should expect of me. I be responsivable for all the needs of the American people!
Fennerton: This tastes great. The steak melts in your mouth! So tender! Like butter!
Tommy: What's a prick Mommy?
Tina: Never mind honey. Why don't you go ask Jeremy if he wants to play catch. He looks like he could use a friend.
George Bush eyes Jeremy's coke hungrily, muttering to himself.
Jeremy: (wiping the coke from his nose) Thanks but I've got all I need right here.
Tommy: C'mon…it'll be fun!
Jeremy: All right, if the kid wants to play catch, sure, I'll do it. But somehow I have this feeling that he'd rather figure out the relationship of the ball to gravity. (He begins playing catch with Tommy.)
Osama: Team sports are like a good conversation. You have to keep the ball rolling.
The conversation at this point falls flat as the ball is not caught. It rolls offstage. The tension builds as all the characters look at each other and begin to question their association with this motley assortment of people. They think disgruntled thoughts during this long pause. Jeremy interjects, smiling awkwardly, in an attempt to create harmony within the group.
Jeremy: You know, I think the problem might be that we've all forgotten about the notion of collective property. (Wipes the coke from his nose…) Unfortunately, even though we all own the highways collectively, that doesn't mean that you can go to the bank and ask for a mortgage. It's not that easy to cash in your chips... No one wants to let you leave the party TOO early in the game.
Ella: La vida no es un juego. (The white men who don't speak Spanish look at her with confused expressions.) Life isn't a game. (The white men nod.)
Fennerton: Don’t you think that someone like me who pays a third of my salary in taxes, who contributes more, should have more say about this so-called collective property? (Slurping his steak down…) I mean, I thought we got rid of slavery a long time ago. You all probably think I'm supposed to keep killing myself to earn more money, a significant portion of which goes to society at large. Who’s the real slave here?
George Bush: (Trying hard to appear eloquent and put-together.) Your wine madam.
Washington: I’m not even going to touch that one. But I bet you have all the best tax shelters that money can buy. Swiss bank accounts-n-shit. Besides, have you ever heard of reparations? In Europe, they’re still paying back the Nazi debts.
Osama: That’s what you think.
Ella: God, all this talk is so futile. It's depressing! I can’t take it anymore! All you men are dominating everything as usual– not solving anything. You keep creating more problems and I can’t stand it!
Glenda: Sometimes, I buy myself flowers.
Ella: What?
Glenda: When a man doesn’t have the sense to do it for me, I buy them myself. Just like Mrs. Dalloway. A fragrant bouquet. Don’t you think I deserve them?
Ella: (Guilty) Yes. You do.
Glenda: I'm making a habit of it, rich girl….
Ella: Who are you calling rich girl?
Jeremy: Why don’t you plant a garden? They say that that’s the only way to find real happiness that will last.
Ella: We have to cultivate our relationship with our Madre Tierra, like we did when we were children. (sees Tommy) Children. I wanted…
Tommy: (interrupts her) Who's Madre Tierra?
Washington: Hope would love to cultivate a relationship with….
Jeremy: (Wiping the coke from his nose…) When I was a boy, I planted gardens.
Monologue 4: Ella
Ella: When I was a little girl…
As the lights become softer and bluer, an actress representing Ella's younger self emerges from a trap door, upstage center. She enters in a cloud of smoke, like a vision, carrying an aged white blanket. The minute they see her, the rest of the cast begins to feel their bodies turn to warm honey, and they are attentive and happy to listen during her speech, hanging on every warm word. She performs this speech slowly and very sensually. Ella watches her, recalling her childhood. The actress playing this role will remain on stage through the rest of the play. She is dressed in white and has the innocence of a little girl, with a big red flower behind her ear. Italicized words are spoken by both her and Ella.
My mother gave me the most beautiful blanket. It meant everything to me; I carried it everywhere. It was so SOFT.
She touches the blanket to Ella's cheek, delicately, as they face each other.
It was my favorite blanket. At first, it was white as snow, white as goose feathers, blanco como las alas de un angel. But the longer I had it; the color mellowed and faded, and became even more pure, mas hermoso, even as it aged. I carried it everywhere. It was my tesoro, my most precious object. But still sometimes I would handle it carelessly: it would trail behind me, I’d drag it on the ground. The faded stains were proof that I had been somewhere. Every tear held a memory. There was this one corner. Mi favorito. I used to kiss it, and taste it all the time, holding it between my teeth, it turned smoother and softer the older it got. I would touch it to my cheek; the threads and all the insides were worn and velvety, spilling out like cotton candy. Whenever I touched this blanket, I felt happy. Protected. Segura. Strong. Like it gave me power.
There was this boy in the pueblo where I grew up who wanted to marry me. He was cute, and I liked his company. He would follow me around wherever I went. We'd play hide and seek in the neighborhood, under a tree, in a corner behind the bed, hiding in a little closet. I’ll admit it; I liked la poder of having him want something from me. I liked to be the one who was hiding. He would beg me to marry him.
There was this boy in the pueblo where I grew up who wanted to marry me. He was cute, and I liked his company. He would follow me around wherever I went. We'd play hide and seek in the neighborhood, under a tree, in a corner behind the bed, hiding in a little closet. I’ll admit it; I liked la poder of having him want something from me. I liked to be the one who was hiding. He would beg me to marry him.
She puts the blanket over Ella's head, like a veil, so she resembles an iconic statue in the blue light.
So I would put the blanket over my head like a veil and pretend to be his desposada. We would start walking down the aisle, and then at the last minute, I would back out on him, and hold my blanket, and curl up in it, roll around and do a somersault, and I knew that it was all I needed. I felt free. Free and comfortable, pero especialmente libre. And the blanket was so soft, como el pecho de mi madre, or the silky feeling of the inside of an iris petal. The burnished surface was patina-ed silver, cool and yet still warm, like the feeling of the soft moonlit sand on the beach after dark, fine and cool under your feet, tingling between your toes.
(Ella resumes here.) I always felt so segura. I was only a child, then, really I was more vulnerable than I am now.
(Ella resumes here.) I always felt so segura. I was only a child, then, really I was more vulnerable than I am now.
Lights back up.
Why do we all feel jeopardized?
Scene 8
Osama: That’s a good question.
George Bush: What's a "question"?
Ella: You don't understand what I mean. You probably don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on inside my heart.
Osama: We never know what anyone else is thinking.
Tina: Well she just told you.
Glenda: No she didn't. I remember her from the university. "From the pueblo where she grew up…" She grew up here 30 miles NORTH of here. Her father is a vascular surgeon.
Ella stares at the table. Washington watches her incredulously.
Washington: No wonder– La cancion del racismo? Social injustice? I used to think –
Jeremy: I used to plant gardens. When I was a boy.
Tommy: I want to be an astronaut. Or a ballerina. Or a COWBOY…! (Does a little John Wayne impersonation, quoting him.) "When the road looks rough ahead, remember the 'Man Upstairs' and the word H-O-P-E. Hang onto both and 'Tough it out'."
Makes sound with his hand and his mouth like an "American Indian." Sees everyone looking at him. Frowns. Sinks into a corner. Takes a book from his knapsack. Reads.
Tina: Tommy, that's offensive.
Ella: At least someone remembers who lived here before us.
Glenda: Sometimes I buy myself flowers. Beautiful ones, gold gerber daises, the reddest roses. Red as rubies. Crimson. Redder than the ripest apple. Or a garland of orange tiger lilies. Clarissa would have approved.
The lights change again, very low and red. During Jeremy’s monologue, which is delivered like slam beatnik poetry, the rest of the cast snaps. He dances and strikes dramatic poses, even slipping into song at times.
Monologue 5: Jeremy
Jeremy: When I was a boy, I planted gardens. I believed in unicorns. I pretended I was a pirate. An explorer. I would build forts, in the forest, digging in the dirt, with sticks and rocks for furniture. In the backyard, I grew vegetables and flowers. I felt so proud when I’d bring them home. A ripe juicy beefsteak tomato. I cultivated vines of cucumbers. In Autumn there were pumpkins. And the border was enriched by the strong scent of marigolds. I had a friend. He'd come over to play. We built dams to divert the streams in the woods, out back from behind my house. I felt so pure then. Purer than you feel looking at one of these sculptures, anyway. Purer than this white powder. Pure.
He snorts another line of coke. Lights back up.
Scene 9
Fennerton: I’m not sure if I want my son hearing stories like this….
Tina: Oh Fennerton, for Christ’s sake, don’t you think that the violence he hears on TV is much worse than this kid’s simple story… I mean, you’re really out of touch with him, you know, not to mention with the world. Don’t you read the paper these days??? We're on the verge of a nuclear disaster, total annihilation and holocaust, and you’re worried about what this kid hears in a diner in the middle of the desert from some harmless gay junkie…. I mean, look at him, he wouldn’t hurt a fly! I swear to God, Fennerton. If you ever once made it home before dark, and spent a little bit of time with us, you’d see. He’s so smart, honey. He understands a lot more than you think he does.
Tommy: (Looking up from his encyclopedia…) I hate it when they talk about me like I’m not even here.
Washington: I know exactly how you feel.
Osama: Me too.
Fennerton: See what I mean? That is just what I'm afraid of —
Tommy: Afraid? Dad, the world might not be here tomorrow for all we know. But I'm not scared. But that's why I don't want to spend my time playing soccer! I wish you guys would take me more seriously. Just because I'm a kid, you think you're supposed to rule my life or something. I wish you would consider some of my ideas for a change. Mommy, remember that art class we talked about taking together?
Tina: Yes. It was a good idea, sweetie. Maybe we should do it.
Fennerton: These people are NOT good influences. I'm taking him out of here. (Gets up and collects Tommy, walks towards the door.) It's late and we need to go home.
Tina follows him outside, which can be done by going out the upstage right door, then back into the room as the lights change and the other actors freeze. The scene is played in two rectangles of cold white light, like overhead street lamps, one space for each actor.
Tina: I'm not ready. I want to stay. I'm inspired again for the first time in years... I like meeting new people.
Fennerton: It's a little late for that, don't you think? (Tommy escapes and runs back inside.) We have to get home and put Tommy to bed.
Tina: You never listen to me.
Fennerton: Now you sound like Tommy. What's the matter?
Tina: Don't condescend to me. You never –
Fennerton: Ah, shit… now he's back in there playing with those freaks!
Tina: THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN FENNERTON, YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!!!
Fennerton: Ok. All right. I'm listening. What do you want to say?
Tina: You don’t take any of my ideas seriously. Everything I say, you completely blow off… Talking down to me like I'm some kind of crazy person who needs a sedative. You know, I gave up my art to give you this life, and you don't even seem to appreciate any of it.
Fennerton: What the hell are you talking about?
Tina: I'm talking about the fact that you never take me seriously.
Fennerton: What, you want me to stop grinning or something?
Tina: I want you to hear me. For once. Can you do that?
Fennerton: If you talk sense, then maybe I will.
Tina: Well, listen to this: I want a divorce. This life we've created isn't working for me. Let me tell you something about myself. Before I met you, I was… I don't know. Artistic. Self-sufficient. Ok. I depended on my friends; I'll admit that. But I was making it on my own. Now all the sudden I've realized…. I'm in this marriage, and it's been nearly twelve years now, and… How can I make you understand? It's just that I used to have an identity. I had the ability to make people laugh, I had vision and wit, you know what I mean? I was creative. I could go out and meet people and start up conversations and have a good time. I could enjoy myself and have fun just being me…. You've turned me into this perfect little housewife… whom you can have your stupid little political debates with…. Who pours you a drink when you get home from work. Who waits up late at night, waiting for you to turn the key in the lock, who doesn't have a job, who can barely flip an egg…
Fennerton, it's time you finally realized this. I'm not Harper or May or Blanche or Irina or Stella or Martha or Momma or the female character from "The Lover" or Adel or Bethany or Wendy or fucking MASHA…!
(With compassion.) I'm Tina. And I want a divorce. I want out. And I'm taking Tommy with me. (Kisses him.)
Fennerton, it's time you finally realized this. I'm not Harper or May or Blanche or Irina or Stella or Martha or Momma or the female character from "The Lover" or Adel or Bethany or Wendy or fucking MASHA…!
(With compassion.) I'm Tina. And I want a divorce. I want out. And I'm taking Tommy with me. (Kisses him.)
Fennerton: You don't know what you're talking about. You're not making any sense.
Tina: Sometimes things don't make sense Fennerton.
Fennerton: So you want a divorce? How are you going to make ends meet? Huh? You said it yourself: you can barely flip an egg! What are you going to do with yourself if you don’t have me around to take care of?
Tina: Don't worry about that. There are plenty of things I can do. I'm going to ask Bradley for a loan for starters. I want to make Art again.
Fennerton: Asking your brother for a handout isn't going to make you self-sufficient.
Tina: I gave him half of his ideas. He owes me. I'm through explaining myself to you. (She turns away from him.)
Monologue 3B – Bradley Continued
The other actors freeze. Light shifts abruptly to murky green.
Bradley: (still on the cell phone with his agent) I know, that’s exactly what the critics say. The men always get all the credit. I know it was her idea. You’re right. She deserves credit.
He manipulates Tina's frozen body like a sculpture, re-posturing her to put her hand on Fennerton's cheek.
What do you want me to do, have her sign her name on it? That’s exactly what they said in the Times. I fooled them, I guess. I knew I needed a woman’s touch. For the subtlety. I know, I know. But I can’t rewrite history here. Ok, fine, I’ll admit it: I could have never done it without her. You’re absolutely right. The whole dialogue is skewed. I know. The discourse is completely patriarchal. You’re right. It’s ridiculous that men think they invented Art. Ok, I'll admit it. I have womb envy… Do you think I should get my hair done before the interview?
Lights return to two cold rectangles. Fennerton moves into Tina’s light and puts his arms around her, holding her gently.
Fennerton: The air is getting colder.
Tina: Go home.
Fennerton: What about Tommy?
Tina: Don't worry about him. I'll bring him home when I'm ready. On my own. (She shugs him off.)
Fennerton: You can't make it on your own. I know where you come from.
Tina: Would you be referring to my family in particular or the African-American community as a whole?
Fennerton: Oh here we go down this road again.
Tina: Yep, get on the bus, Fennerton. Maybe this time you can sit in the back.
Fennerton: You're not going to divorce me.
Tina: You watch me.
She turns and heads back inside. Fennerton looks at her, thinks about going to get her, and then decides against it, thinking that this must be some phase that she's passing through. He exits upstage. Tina reenters the diner, and finds Jeremy resuming his story. Lights back up.
Scene 10
Jeremy: So anyway, I’m through with gardening now. But I’m going up to Alaska this summer with some friends, and I’m going to fish.
Tommy: That sounds like fun. (Quieter.) I wish I still had all my friends.
Jeremy: I’ll make enough money doing that so that I can take off the rest of the year! Then I can write my poetry, and find my Prince. I know he’s out there…
Glenda: I wouldn’t be so sure, darlink. Chances are, you’re the only prince you’ll ever find, isn't that right Osama? And maybe that isn't so bad after all. Maybe that’s all you need.
Jeremy looks at Osama and realizes how cute he is. Winks at him. Air kisses. Osama gives him a stern look.
Glenda: He's a prince, all right, but I don't think he's the one you're looking for…
Osama: (Dangling his wrist, with a mocking lisp.) I thee that what they thay about you Americanth ith in fact true. (Meets Jeremy centerstage.)
Jeremy: Look, this is no time to act more obnoxious than you already…. (slightly scared, then snapping out of it with fierceness) Remember, you’re the one who needs some good publicity, not me, churl. (Triple snaps, becoming very sarcastic) People have already gotten used to people like me, what with such incredibly realistic TV shows like Queer as Folk and Will and Grace on the air…
Osama: (Sharing a private joke.) I never thaid I wath immune to thereotypeth.
Jeremy: Well, just watch it, honey, that turban on your head could easily be made into a gag. (smiling and flirtatious) Or a Molotov cock-tail…. (quoting Bette Davis) Someone find me an empty bottle! (They play fight.)
Tommy: (Thinking they're serious, with a tear in his eye, recalling his best friend who died on 9/11.) Ok, ok, this is nothing to start WW3 over!
Osama: (Not seeing Tommy.) I bet you think that was funny...
Jeremy: (Insensitive to everyone else's feelings.) Lighten up, Aladdin: it was.
They mock rumble, half fighting, half dancing. Rumble music from The West Side Story soundtrack. They laugh, but Tommy remains very upset.
Tommy: I just meant that after Davey died in a plane crash, the world has been on the verge of some big conflicts. No need to start small ones.
Glenda: (Shocked.) What? Who? What happened?
Tommy: One of my friends. He died. He went back East. To see his Nana. He was my best friend. He had two Mommies. They're nice. I still go visit them sometimes. We used to skip Soccer practice. Instead we'd play pretend. We went to imaginary places. (to Jeremy) We were going to plant a big garden together too. (Sheds another tear.) I miss him.
An extremely uncomfortable beat. Osama sheds a tear and faces Mecca again. Prays.
Glenda: (Sheds a tear. To the audience, in an attempt to save the moment, and herself.) Sometimes, I buy myself flowers. Big stinky bouquets.
She crouches to Tommy's level and puts her arms around him, center stage, holding him tenderly. The cast freezes as Bradley enters. Lights to green murky glow, on his face.
Monologue 3C - Bradley Continued
Bradley: (Still on the phone with his press agent, he enters and walks abruptly through center stage, carelessly breaking apart Glenda and Tommy's embrace.) Yes that’s right, you heard me, I want a full-page ad in the Times! Whatever the expense, no matter what the cost! Of course I have collateral… (An image appears projected onto the wall behind him, of the civilian victims of American bombs in the Middle East. It remains there for the rest of the line.) What do you think, my account's damaged or something? Well, put it in the Home section then, I don't care… I’m NOT going to let this chance slip me by! This is my career we’re talking about here! The art world will be at my feet! (He snaps his fingers and stomps his feet and the frozen cast members all fall forward, as if dead.) I will be an Art Star in an era when they had said that Art Stars were obsolete! (Scheming) Yes, and after that, maybe make an appearance or two on Letterman… Hey, why the hell not? I mean, seriously, it's time a voice like mine finally gets heard. My work is a representation of the times. It's completely relevant and it points at some of the most glaring paradoxes and beautiful simulations in postmodern America… Do you think I should raise my prices?
Lights back up. Cast recovers.
Scene 11
Glenda: (To the cast, slipping in and out of her "gypsy" accent.) All right everybody. Let’s get some excitement going in here! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m going PLACES!!
Glenda wiggles the fingers from one hand in the air. She cackles with delight, puts some music on the jukebox, upstage right: Carole King's "I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet". Tina dances, enjoying herself. Everyone joins in. A choreographed dance routine as the disco spotlights shine around the room. Ella's daughter is an inspiration. Eventually, the synchronized choreography ends as the cast begins dancing like people normally do in a club. Light returns. Tina finds herself dancing with Washington.
Washington: What are you doing with Mr. Corporation?
Tina: (She likes him, but she's slightly annoyed.) I don’t want to hear this from you.
Washington: You are perfectly free to not answer the question.
Tina: Everyone not for you is not necessarily against you.
Washington: Is that so?
Ella (to T.): That is easy for you to say.
Glenda: Let her talk.
Ella: Only her?
Washington: Oh boy.
Ella: Don’t start that. And if you even think of making the sound of an angry cat, your balls will become pancakes.
Washington: You have a lot more power than you think you do. Think about what you could accomplish if you could channel that anger and use it constructively.
Ella: You're one to talk.
Osama (to W.): It is a losing battle, Women. That was the only one I surrendered.
Glenda (to O.): Please don’t start. I really am too tired to formulate an argument with you at this moment.
Ella: Formulate an argument? What kind of language are you speaking? (Ella's younger self rushes to protect Glenda by wrapping her in her blanket with her arms around her.) It is because of mujeres like you that I don’t like to go around advertising where I came from! Sometimes the reality we create for ourselves is more true than the one we have lived. Why don't you chew on that for a while because I want to just sit here and watch the moment pass and I don't want to hear anymore…
As the jukebox fades out abruptly and she takes sits in Jeremy's chair downstage left, she has forgotten what she was going to say.
Tina (to E.): What are you doing?
Washington: She is watching the moment pass.
There is silence for a moment. At least eight seconds, please.
(Beat.)
Ella: Perdoname un momento por favor. Excuse me a minute. (She starts towards the bathroom, downstage left, exits.)
Tina: Does this thing work?
She heads toward the jukebox. She searches in her purse for change.
George Bush: (bussing one of the tables) Yeah, but the Travis Tritt is bursted.
Washington: (Laughing at him.) Don’t you mean busted, working man?
George Bush steals some of Jeremy's cocaine. Snorts some, spills the rest on Tina's drawing of Osama, making a big mess of things.
Jeremy: Hey! That's mine! He's stealing it!
Osama: Now you know how I feel….
George Bush retreats from everyone like a hunted animal, protecting his loot. He scares Tommy on his way out, like a boogieman monster.
Tommy: I want to go home. (No one is listening.)
Glenda: Do they have more Carole King?
Tommy: I want to go home. (No one is listening.)
Tina accidentally selects an upbeat Mark Anthony popular dance song on the jukebox. Ella returns from the bathroom.
Ella: Is this music supposed to appease me? Because that man singing and me come from the same world about as much as you and that man right there. (She points at Washington.)
Washington: My name is Washington. We have been introduced.
Tina: (Changing the music to "El Cuarto de Tula" by Buena Vista Social Club.) You don’t know where I come from.
Ella: But I see where you have ended, and that is far more dangerous.
Tina: Have I ended?
Glenda: Of course not. Nobody ends, Tina.
She starts to dance with her. She is very stiff. Tina tries to move, clearly preferring to dance on her own.
Tommy: I want to go home.
No one is listening. He goes to the corner again to read his encyclopedia. Ella closes her eyes. She yawns.
Osama: If you are so tired, why do you stay?
Ella: I am not tired. I just don’t like to watch people dance.
Washington: You prefer to participate.
Ella: Only when the moment is right.
Glenda: But how do you know if it is right?
Tina breaks away from Glenda, begins dancing alone, really enjoying herself.
Ella: Quien sabe?
Osama: Sometimes you shouldn’t wait.
Ella: If my only choice was dancing with you, I would wait.
Washington stands up, moves to Ella.
Washington: He’s not your only choice.
Ella: Neither are you.
Washington: You would only dance with me if I were the last man –
Ella: In this restaurant?
Washington: There’s always him. (He gestures to Tommy, sitting in the corner.)
Ella: I prefer to know my enemigos.
The music stops abruptly. Beat.
Glenda: I wish I knew how to create moments like this.
Osama: Every bit of life cannot be orchestrated. (He turns to Mecca again, prays silently.)
Glenda: Is that so? (She turns and prays with him.)
Scene 12
Ethereal Cuban music ("Chan Chan" by Buena Vista Social Club) plays on the jukebox, softly. Lights shift to match the mood.
Wash. (to E.): Shall…. as they say…we…?
He offers his hand.
Ella: You're not disgusted?
Washington: By what?
Ella: Where you think I might have come from.
Washington: Hope would like you. I want you to meet her.
Without looking at him she takes his hand.
Ella: I will lead.
Washington: I wouldn’t have it otherwise.
Ella: I'm the Earth Mother. (Putting a check into his hand.) This is for the education, for the development, of Hope. (Commands him.) Hope!
Washington: Gracias. I will. Viva la esperanza!
Jeremy: I want to dance too! I want to learn! (To Tommy.) Hey kid, you've got a pretty good attitude: can you show me how to dance?
Tommy: (Looking up from his encyclopedia.) You can do it. But you have to teach yourself.
Ella (to W.): Not bad advice for you either, mi amigo.
They dance, and laugh. Tina, still a bit lost in herself, notices them. Glenda watches Tina watching Ella, Washington, Jeremy, and Tommy.
Osama: (looking at Tina, to Glenda) That one is uncertain which way is home.
Glenda: It is not such a bad thing to wonder.
Osama: Unless you are nearing 40.
Glenda: The accomplishments for which you will be remembered did not take place until after you were –
Osama: Shhhh….. (He stands up, offers his hand to Glenda.)
Glenda: Well, I'd rather dance with Ti-- Just a moment…
She finds Tina’s sketch book, dusts it off, hands it to Tina, who stares at it a moment like a foreign object. Then slowly she takes it. Glenda returns to Osama.
Glenda: Just one dance.
Osama: I try not to ask too much.
They dance. Tina watches them a moment. Unnoticed and wearing a turban, George W. Bush puts more change in the jukebox. Tina stares at Ella and Washington, begins to sketch them.
Tommy: (Dancing blissfully, he's reached nirvana.) There's no place like home! There's no place like home! There's no place like home!
(Glenda watches Tina, still dancing with Osama.)
Glenda: Maybe she just needs to learn how to talk to her husband. Ask the right questions.
Osama: Don’t get involved, Glenda.
Glenda: You were the one who suggested we stop on the road.
Osama: Just to fill her gas tank.
Tommy: (Calm and meditative.) There's no place like home. There's no place like…
Glenda: If he hadn’t have left so abruptly, perhaps…
Osama: Perhaps, perhaps –
Glenda: Don’t interrupt me.
Osama: You weren’t speaking.
Glenda: I was thinking.
The lights begin to fade. In background, we see projected images of the tornado from The Wizard of Oz. Houses spinning in the tornado, backwards xylophone music, etc. Silk flower petals fall slowly from the rafters, onto the heads of everyone, especially Tina. Black out. Spotlights come back up on Bradley and Tina, as flower petals continue to slowly fall, through the end of Bradley's last speech. The light on Bradley slowly fades as he has this last speech, talking himself into oblivion.
Continuation of Bradley’s – 3D
Bradley: (He thinks he's communicating with Tina, but she's in a world of her own now. We still see her, happy and fulfilled, surrounded by flowers and making her own art.) Yeah. Schnabel dropped the charges after all. He figured it would look bad if he sued me, you know, since he's already made his mark on the art world. Lucky stop that. This is America: we don’t go for censorship here. Lucky cut it out! Well, of course there are always going to be references… that's what postmodernism is all about… that's part of what makes the show so meaningful, you know? Lucky! Look, the people who think my stuff's pretentious are just mad because it wasn't all laid out for them. You think it's too obvious? Lucky! Well, I owe a lot of it to you. I'm not kidding– You've given me a lot. Your attention has meant so much to me. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this. Oh that's right– The check is in the mail! Anyway, I think for the next show I'm going to hire a different caterer. Yeah. Maybe some Japanese finger food. Lucky if you don't quit it I'm going to have to take you back to the pound and put you behind bars! Sorry. It's this damned dog again. Yeah, I'm at home now. Now what was I saying? It was really important… Oh yeah, that's right… the hors d' oeuvres… I think some little dumplings would be good.
(A pause. He looks straight out into the audience.)
What do you think?
The last spotlight fades on Tina, who is still drawing amidst a pile of flowers, with one arm around her child.
Exit Music: Home Again by C. King followed by I Can See Clearly Now by J. Nash
END OF PLAY
