(For Melinda)
Cast of characters
(in order of appearance)
CAT is in her early 20s
SAVANNAH is in her early 40s
ROAN is in her early 20s
NINA & PIN are both in their mid-20s
CECILY is nine years old
MARIA is in her mid-20s
Act One
(Fade to black. Once the stage is in total darkness, the ring of a telephone is heard. Beat, two, three, four. The phone rings again. Beat, two, three, four. Instead of the phone ringing, the lights come up to reveal a sparsely decorated studio apartment. A room with no clock; a room with no paint. Tidy, but not clean. Neat, but just for the evening. A lamp in each corner of the room, no computer or television. An old stereo with an ample selection of cassette tapes. Beat, two, three, four, the front door opens and in walks Cat, just coming back from a short errand. The lights may or may not have been left on. Once inside, her mind begins to flash, trying to think what needs to be done. She can’t think of anything so she shrugs it off and turns off the lights, then begins rummaging around her place trying to find candles in the darkness. She can’t see too well, and tries looking around her place to see if she left them on top of a desk or something. She decides to go back to the light switch and turns it on and off immediately, notices where the candles are, goes over to grab them, takes them to the center of the room where a sofa with a coffee table rest. She sits down on the floor in-between the sofa and the coffee table, facing the audience, perches the candle(s) in front of her, takes the matches out of her pocket and lights them (it). She reaches to one side of the coffee table for a pad of paper she had been writing on, and the pen nearby. She glances at it, puts it back down in front of her on the table, takes a medium sized sigh, and stares. Her mind takes over, and she lets it. A stream of thoughts enter her head as a prerecorded voice tape of hers from offstage lets the audience in on what’s going through her mind.)
CAT’S MIND: Warming farm—I need your keys to lock this—RU486?--She grows cotton on her walls—They’re building roads round her building—she has France written on her walls and mirrors tucked in the doors—hinges on her photo box—and cameras scattered on her floors—at midnight Minerva’s shift is over—Michelle sleeps in pieces—the nurse shuts out the dark side of the room—the rain turns over in creases—she plays with the mirrors—thinks of water—lets in the fog—and tosses 3 coins—there’s a way you must tread on the ground, so that all you can hear is—she’s all out of rouge—hears the whistle of the steam—shuts out the rain—and loses both bets—her steps don’t reach the street—music for three people—she knows what the last words are he’ll hear—she circles his baby picture—she likes to think they feel sick—when they kiss, they exchange teeth—he sinks his eyes across the street—the paper suitcase crawls—the glowing briefcase brawls—his pockets to the car have just been paved—touch something HERE—the yellow and red pathway stretches and yawns—the awning winces twice—the blintzes sleep on ice—the blitz reminders hide—the lips behind us snide—the hips inside us slide—the pits surprise a slide—what kind of house do you want in your room?—the a capella trees, the ones that bend behind the sky—islands upon islands—where morning sheep may softly graze—tuck themselves in the bushes—the low moan of the road—where he keeps his words talking to themselves—all of the houses that you want to own—if you’re already at the feast you may as well grab a beast—the reluctance of the road—sheepishly through the trees—they undress and crawl into my face—the colors have bled from your flags—the black dust cliffs by the cavalry—hold in your hand—possession is nine-tenths of the problem—from one hand, over to the other—there are no borders here—kiss off, four one nine—get the girl out from behind Christ on the cross—running around trying to see who smells cleanest—widowspeak—widowswalk—don’t look at other people’s faces. When you do, you admit they exist and then they have that choice to decide whether or not you exist. If you don’t look at them, they will keep looking at you until they exist. They will even go so far as to stare you down until you look at them. Then when you look at them, they will not know what to do—there’s a god at both ends; when you start and when you finish—anything else anybody want to hear?—is it you who’s altered or is it me?—who is the whittler?—what do they whittle?—why? Because if she didn’t, god couldn’t be born—god sits in the front row, laughing, thinks of something somebody once said—Kathleen and guest—Christ—girls sleeping alone—and guest.
(She picks up the pen and begins to write, with the same thing: the audience being able to hear what she writes from a backstage tape.)
CAT’S MIND: I remembered Terry this afternoon. Terry Blank. Can’t think of her last name, but she lived on the corner of our block from second to fourth grade, I think. Terry who was so much like a boy that the boys didn’t like her. Terry with the freckles that didn’t quite spill over her face equally, but finding the best places on her nose and cheeks, anyway. Terry who said, "Don’t listen to them; come with me," and climbed over into our backyard with her umbrella. Terry who made her brother, Jimmy, invite me to his slumber parties. Terry who was the first person to ever touch me. Probably. Terry who never liked art at school, but would draw pictures of forests by limelight and cottage pie hills while she was on the phone and then offer them to me and smile. Terry in sandals. Terry in circles and lines. My partner in crime, my Peppermint Patty.
(Cat thinks to herself for twelve beats then continues writing.)
CAT’S MIND: I remembered her on purpose. I wanted her to be the last thing I thought of.
(Eight beats, then Cat continues writing)
CAT’S MIND: I…I tried it today…and I couldn’t. I can’t go through with this, Maria, I can’t.
(Four beats, then she continues writing)
CAT’S MIND: I don’t want to, I don’t need to…and something’s keeping me from doing it.
(Four beats, then, a knock at the front door. Cat goes over to answer)
SAVANNAH: There she is!
CAT: Savannah!!!
(They embrace in the threshold. Savannah is in her early 40s, not really specified by her appearance, manner or attitude. She lives inside moments and occasionally steps in to time itself in order to clarify things. Her life has a strong tempo, and she only needs a handful of clues to know what’s going on. If it is merited, she has been known to throw books at walls.)
CAT: Oh, I’m so glad you could come.
SAVANNAH: Well, I almost didn’t make it. Have you seen those roads?
CAT: I know, I just got back from the store myself.
SAVANNAH: I might not be able to stay too long: I’m getting worried about getting home, but, we’ll see.
CAT: Well, by all means, if—
SAVANNAH: Jeez, do you know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other?
CAT: Last Christmas, wasn’t it? No, wait; it was my birthday.
SAVANNAH: Oh, right. Well, God, it’s good to see you again.
CAT: You, too.
SAVANNAH: How have you been?
CAT: Busy. Really busy. Two jobs and then working at the center pretty much takes up almost all of the day. But, you know, it’s money. Or, the jobs are at least.
SAVANNAH: So, you’re working where now?
CAT: Okay: Twenty hours at the Foodomation, twenty hours at the cafeteria, and then three nights a week at the center. So I pack the stuff, serve the stuff, then tell everybody not to eat the stuff.
SAVANNAH: Sounds like quite a bit.
CAT: Well, hopefully it’s only temporary. Still filling out applications. Still passing out resumes.
SAVANNAH: Yeah, it can be a hassle.
CAT: So how have you been? How’s school?
SAVANNAH: Oh, same old stuff. I find that the more I learn, the less the kids want to know. The really special ones are so few and far between that…(sighs)…you know?
CAT: Yeah. It must be a hassle.
SAVANNAH: (Chuckles) Yeah, it can be. Well, how are you doing?
CAT: Okay, I guess. Sometimes I try not to think about it, and other times it’s just too hard not to. But for the most part…I’m okay.
SAVANNAH: How is Mike taking it?
CAT: …Mike doesn’t know yet.
SAVANNAH: He doesn’t?
CAT: Mike doesn’t need to know yet.
SAVANNAH: But, Cat—
CAT: He’ll know eventually, but right now I know what his reaction would be, and…he doesn’t need to know yet.
SAVANNAH: Who all does know?
CAT: The six of us. You and I, Roan, Maria, Nina and Pin.
SAVANNAH: Does Sandra know?
CAT: Not yet. She’s going to call tonight, though, so….
SAVANNAH: Does your mother know?
CAT: I don’t know. I tried talking to her one night and the doctor said it was hopeless. She may have heard me…I don’t know. And my father…no.
SAVANNAH: And you ARE going through with it?
CAT: Yeah; I AM going through with it.
(Savannah nods in understanding)
SAVANNAH: I remember when it happened to me. I wouldn’t leave my apartment for weeks: I couldn’t. I was just petrified. And our manager, Mrs. Beechum, bless her heart, would always watch for me to come home after that and bring up my mail and some strawberries and say "now you lock this behind me." I mean, you try and be so careful, then when it happens in your own apartment…by someone you know…just bizarre. And your mind just plays tricks with itself and sometimes you just think…you know…he’s still in there. You still don’t know who it was?
CAT: Nope. It was much too dark.
SAVANNAH: Well, at least you didn’t know him. Sometimes that can be worse. That can be much worse. (Looks around Cat’s apartment) Do you need any help with anything?
CAT: Umm…could I ask you a big favor?
SAVANNAH: Sure.
CAT: I still have a few things to do; could you just do a few of those dishes so it doesn’t look as bad. Just the morning ones will be fine. The ones on the left. Great, thanks.
(Savannah goes over to stage left where there counters, sink and cupboards comprise the kitchen part of the studio. She runs some water, gets some soap, and digs in. Meanwhile, Cat runs around taking care of miscellaneous things that need to be done.)
CAT: Oh, did I tell you—no, I guess I didn’t: somehow Roan got the message and called back this afternoon to say she would be coming tonight.
SAVANNAH: Oh, good. It’s been so long since we talked. Lots of letters, but nothing else. And I haven’t had the time to really write anybody these days.
CAT: She told me not to tell a soul, but, I guess she got the scholarship.
SAVANNAH: Oh, wonderful. I’m so glad for her. She really deserved it.
CAT: Yeah, she was really stunned. The first thing she said was "half of this is Milet’s, what the hell am I going to do with all of it?" I told her that if she didn’t want it there were plenty of other starving artists downtown who would gladly sell all their camel hair for it.
"Exactly" she said. I think she’s becoming a human Catch-22.
SAVANNAH: Yeah, she just forgets herself in the crowd sometimes.
CAT: When she called this afternoon she said she couldn’t talk long because she had to decide on a price for one of her pieces. I guess some guy had been trying to get a hold of her for weeks and really wants to buy one of her things. I’m not sure which one, but he was coming by at 4 and she still hadn’t settled on a price.
SAVANNAH: It’ll do her good. She needs to realize that its excusable to have creativity pay the rent.
CAT: So, yeah, she’ll be here tonight. That’ll be good.
SAVANNAH: Who else is coming?
CAT: The six of us. The infamous six. You, me, Roan, Maria, Nina and Pin.
SAVANNAH: God, I’ve heard so much about them.
CAT: And finally the planets have lined up. You’ll really like them.
SAVANNAH: Now, why are these people famous?
CAT: Well, Nina I’ve known since second grade. Her family is from Switzerland and they’ve been cobblers for years. They have a little shop over by the fish store on 28th. Really well-made shoes, too. Built to last, not to throw away. Then, Pin we’ve known since 8th grade. She used to be the assistant manager at one of the clothing stores in the mall. I forget which one. And Maria dances.
SAVANNAH: …Maria dances…
CAT: Then one day they just decided to pool their money and now they run their own co-op strip joint, down by the railroad. They figured, what the hell, give them what they want and get rid of the middle man.
SAVANNAH: Hmmm….I guess so.
CAT: Well, let me back up. They had all tried to get jobs at one of the clubs after their dancing class, but after talking to the ones that had been there awhile they just decided it would be worse than waitressing, even though you do get to dance. So they figured to just
go into business for themselves. I mean, there’s market for it, and they’re good at what they do, so….
SAVANNAH: All the power to them.
CAT: Yeah, why not?
SAVANNAH: Oh, I had a call from my cousin Karen today. It’s getting worse. It’s at the point now where I can’t even speak to her on the phone for more than ten minutes. It’s just a mental drain on me, let alone what shape she must be in. I mean, I can put in six or seven hours a week down at the center, but when Karen calls, it might just as well be me calling her. I know what she’s seen and I have done since we were twelve…and I can go on, but when I see things through her eyes….She says she stares a lot. And I can see her with her arms stretched across that white tablecloth fingering the silver bracelet I gave her. Five small opals in the pattern of a flower. And I can also see her melting it with her eyes. Five edges of a dying star. Today is her birthday. And that was my present to her.
CAT: …a nice present…
SAVANNAH: Sometimes she’ll call and just really try hard, but five minutes later she’ll just tell me to kiss off. And she knows she doesn’t mean it. But, it’s like a spiral that just keeps getting larger and larger. I’ll be listening to her and I’ll try to see the world through her eyes and I think to myself, "how can she possibly sleep at night?" And I’m the biggest part of the problem. She has to learn to forget. And she can’t as long as I’m there. I wish she just wouldn’t call. I don’t even know why she does. Sometimes I’ll be talking to someone and some of her nuances will just…slip out. Like a certain laugh or an arm gesture or something, and I can’t stop it, but I know I’m doing it. She’s tried doing it three or four times now. Or that’s what she says. And after every time, she calls ME. So it feels as thought I’ve done it three or four times, too. That’s her revenge. That’s her self-control. And its aged me so much. After having to go through all that with her I feel ten or fifteen years older. I had a dream last night that I was watching one of our old home movies but it was like a negative. The dark parts all being light and vice versa. And there’s Karen with these white eyes walking through all the hallways in our old house showing her hands to the camera. And then suddenly the screen isn’t there. Just Karen. She’ll be burying mirrors in my grave long after she’s put me there. Long after.
CAT: Would you ever do it, Savannah? Have you?
SAVANNAH: I used to. I used to think I could. Just because sometimes there WAS nothing else. But after I started going down to the center it helped so much. Just having the company, you know? But sometimes it takes a lot more. I know some women who have been going to the center for years…but sometimes something just snaps. You know, you always read articles about people saying how it was for them, but you don’t really know what it’s like until you do it yourself. Or, try to do it yourself. It’s not just a case of saying, you know…good night. It’s waking up your four year old so you remind yourself you can’t say good night.
CAT: But…what if you don’t have a four year old?
(Savannah keeps washing the dishes.)
SAVANNAH: Is this all you want done?
CAT: Oh, yeah, that’s fine; great.
(Savannah dries her hands on the dish towel, flicking away any leftover moisture onto the mirror just above the sink, leaving it a moment, then wiping it off with the dish towel. By the way, it’s not just a normal flick. It’s a flick in the Catholic style, with the four points.)