I'll pick it up in the middle of something, so you just have to leap in. Oh, and lastly: Brick broke his ankle the night before because he was drunk and he went to the track and tried to leap over the hurdles. He is now hobbling around on crutches.

EXCERPT FROM Cat on a Hot Tin Roof by Tennessee Williams

MARGARET. Y'know what happened to poor little Susie McPheeters?

BRICK. [absently] No. What happened to little Susie McPheeters?

MARGARET. Somebody spit tobacco juice in her face.

BRICK. [dreamily] Somebody spit tobacco juice in her face?

MARGARET. That's right, some old drunk leaned out of a window in the Hotel Gayoso and yelled, "Hey, Queen, hey, hey, there, Queenie!" Susie looked up and flashed him a radiant smile and he shot out a squirt of tobacco juice right in poor Susie's face.

BRICK. Well, what d'you know about that.

MARGARET. [gaily] What do I know about it? I was there, I saw it!

BRICK. [absently] Must have been kind of funny.

MARGARET. Susie didn't think so. Had hysterics. Screamed like a banshee. They had to stop th' parade an' remove her from her throne an' go on with ---

[She catches sight of him in the mirror, gasps slightly, wheels about to face him. Count ten]

--- Why are you looking at me like that?

BRICK. [whistling softly, now] Like what, Maggie?

MARGARET. [intensely, fearfully] The way y' were lookin' at me just now, befo' I caught your eye in the mirror and you started t' whistle! I don't know how t' describe it but it froze my blood! -- I've caught you lookin' at me like that so often lately. What are you thinkin' of when you look at me like that?

BRICK. I wasn't conscious of lookin' at you, Maggie.

MARGARET. Well, I was conscious of it! What were you thinkin'?

BRICK. I don't remember thinking of anything, Maggie.

MARGARET. Don't you think I know that --? Don't you ---? Think I know that ---?

BRICK. [coolly] Know what, Maggie?

MARGARET. [struggling for expression] That I've gone through this -- hideous! --- transformation, become --- hard! Frantic!

[Then she adds, almost tenderly:]

--- cruel!! That's what you've been observing in me lately. How could y' help but observe it? That's all right. I'm not -- thin-skinned anymore, can't afford t' be thin-skinned any more.

[She is now recovering her power]

-- But Brick? Brick?

BRICK. Did you say something?

MARGARET. I was goin to say something: that I get -- lonely. Very!

BRICK. Ev'rybody gets that ...

MARGARET. Living with someone you love can be lonelier -- than living entirely alone! -- if the one that y' love doesn't love you ...

[There is a pause. Brick hobbles downstage and asks, without looking at her]

BRICK. Would you like to live alone, Maggie?

MARGARET. No! --- God! --- I wouldn't!

[Another gasping breath. She forcibly controls what must have been an impulse to cry out. We see her deliberately, very forcibly, going all the way back to the world in which you can talk about ordinary matters]

Did you have a nice shower?

BRICK. Uh-huh.

MARGARET. Was the water cool?

BRICK. No.

MARGARET. But it made y' feel fresh, huh?

BRICK. Fresher ...

MARGARET. I know something would make y' feel much fresher!

BRICK. What?

MARGARET. An alcohol rub. Or cologne, a rub with cologne!

BRICK. That's good after a workout but I haven't been workin' out, Maggie.

MARGARET. You've kept in good shape, though.

BRICK. [indifferently] You think so, Maggie?

MARGARET. I always thought drinkin' men lost their looks, but I was plainly mistaken.

BRICK. [wryly] Why, thanks, Maggie.

MARGARET. You're the only drinkin' man I know that it never seems t' put fat on.

BRICK. I'm gettin' softer, Maggie.

MARGARET. Well, sooner or later it's bound to soften you up. It was just beginning to soften Skipper up when --

[She stops short]

I'm sorry. I never could keep my fingers off a sore -- I wish you would lose your looks. If you did it would make the martyrdom of Saint Maggie a little more bearable. But no such goddam luck. I actually believe you've gotten better looking since you've gone on the bottle. Yeah, a person who didn't know you would think you'd never had a tense nerve in your body or a strained muscle.

[There are sounds of croquet on the lawn below; the click of mallets, light voices, near and distant]

Of course, you always had that detached quality as if you were playing a game without much concern over whether you won or lost, and now that you've lost the game, not lost but just quit playing, you have that rare sort of charm that usually only happens in very old or hopelessly sick people, the charm of the defeated. --- You look so cool, so cool, so enviably cool.

[Music is heard]

They're playing croquet. The moon has appeared and it's white, just beginning to turn a little bit yellow ...

You were a wonderful lover ...

Such a wonderful person to go to bed with, and I think mostly because you were really indifferent to it. Isn't that right? Never had any anxiety about it, did it naturally, easily, slowly, with absolute confidence and perfect calm, more like opening a door for a lady or seating her at a table than giving expression to any longing for her. Your indifference made you wonderful at lovemaking -- strange? -- but true ...

You know, if I thought you would never, never, never make love to me again -- I would go downstairs to the kitchn and pick out the longest and sharpest knife I could find and stick it straight into my heart, I swear that I would.

But one thing I don't have is the charm of the defeated, my hat is still in the ring, and I am determined to win!

[There is the sound of croquet mallets hitting croquet balls]

--- What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof? --- I wish I knew ...

Just staying on it, I guess, as long as she can ...

[More croquet sounds]

Later tonight I'm going to tell you I love you an' maybe by that time you'll be drunk enough to believe me. Yes, they're playing croquet ...

Big Daddy is dying of cancer ...

What were you thinking of when I caught you looking at me like that? Were you thinking of Skipper?

[Brick crosses to the bar, takes a quick drink, and rubs his head with a towel]

Laws of silence don't work ...

When something is festering in your memory or your imagination, laws of silence don't work, it's like shutting a door and locking it on a house on fire in hope of forgetting that the house is burning. But not facing a fire doesn't put it out. Silence about a thing just magnifies it. It grows and festers in silence, becomes malignant ....

Get dressed, Brick.

[He drops his crutch]

BRICK. I've dropped my crutch.

[He has stopped rubbing his hair dry but still stands hanging onto the towel rack in a white towel-cloth robe]

MARGARET. Lean on me.

BRICK. No, just give me my crutch.

MARGARET. Lean on my shoulder.

BRICK. I don't want to lean on your shoulder, I want my crutch!

[This is spoken like sudden lightning]

Are you going to give me my crutch or do I have to get down on my knees on the floor and ---

MARGARET. Here, here, take it, take it!]

[She has thrust the crutch at him

BRICK. [hobbling out] Thanks ...

MARGARET. We mustn't scream at each other, the walls in this house have ears ...

[He hobbles directly to liquor cabinet to get a new drink]

-- but that's the first time I've heard you raise your voice in a long time, Brick. A crack in the wall? -- Of composure?

-- I think that's a good sign ...

A sign of nerves in a player on the defensive!

[Brick turns and smiles at her coolly over his fresh drink]

BRICK. It just hasn't happened yet, Maggie.

MARGARET. What?

BRICK. The click I get in my head when I've had enough of this stuff to make me peaceful ...