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Humorous

Dramatic

AGNES OF GOD
by John Pielmeier
AGNES

Where do babies come from? Well, I think they come from when an angel lights on their mother's chest and whispers into her ear. That makes good babies start to grow. Bad babies come when a fallen angels squeezes in down there. I don't know where good babies come out. (Silence) And you can't tell the difference except that bad babies cry a lot and make their fathers go away and their mothers get very ill and die sometimes. Mummy wasn't very happy when she died and I think she went to hell because every time I see her she looks like she just stepped out of a hot shower. And I'm never sure if it's her or the Lady who tells me things. They fight over me all the time. The Lady I saw when I was ten. I was lying on the grass looking at the sun and the sun became a cloud and the cloud became the Lady, and she told me she would talk to me and then her feet began to bleed and I saw there were holes in her hands and in her side and I tried to catch the blood as it fell from the sky but I couldn't see any more because my eyes hurt because there were big black spots in from of them. And she tells me things like--right now she's crying, "Marie, Marie!" but I don't know what she means. And she uses me to sing. It's as if she's throwing a big hook under my ribs and tries to pull me up but I can't move because Mummy is holding my feet and all I can do is sing in her voice, it's the Lady's voice, God loves you! (silence) God loves you. (silence) I don't eat because I have been commanded by God. I'm getting fat, there's too much flesh on me. I have to be attractive to God. He hates fat people. It's a sin to be fat. Look at all the statues. They're thin. That's because they're suffering. Suffering is beautiful. I want to be beautiful. Christ said it in the Bible. He said, "Suffer the little children, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." I want to suffer like a little child. I am a little child, but my body keeps getting bigger. I don't want it to get bigger because then I won't be able to fit in. I won't be able to squeeze into Heaven. I'm too fat! Look at this--I'm a blimp! God blew up the Hindendburg. He'll blow up me. That's what Mummy said. But if I stay little, it won't happen. She says God presents us to our mothers in bundles of eight pounds six ounces. I have to be eight pounds again. I'm being punished. I don't know why. (she holds out her hand, bleeding) It started this morning, and I can't get it to stop. Why me? Why me?

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ALL KIDDING ASIDE
by Charles Johnson
Scotty

Welcome to the show. My name is Scotty Devlin. I know what you’re all thinking… How come she has a boy’s name? Actually my real name is Heidi. But I had to change it when I lost my virginity. Everyone named Heidi must change their name when they lose their virginity. That’s the rule. Look at these girls over here all rustling through their programs. You’re all Heidis, right? Sorry. Am I embarrassed or what? Actually, I lied to you. Scotty is my real name. You see, when I was born the doctor was either far-sighted or a prankster, because as I popped out, I remember it vividly, he declared "it’s a boy." In fact, I was a boy until my mother changed my diapers for the first time. Can you imagine their surprise. My mother fainted. My father just stared, "he can’t be my boy." I was in stitches.They tried calling me Judy for a while but I just wouldn’t respond. Would you have? There’s a Heidi nodding her head. Oh, by the way, the part about all Heidis having to change their names when they lose their virginity, I didn’t lie about hat. That is a known fact. Yes, it’s true. Think about it. How many grown women do you know named Heidi? All the Heidis I know are about 8 years old with long blond braids down their backs. They all wear pink dirndls with little white aprons. And are surrounded by goats. They skip their way into high school, getting A’s in Home Ec. Then one day, probably on their 21st birthday- wham- Veronica, Yvonne, Desiree. This is absolutely true, I promise you. You’ve never heard of a child being called Yvonne, have you? If I had been called Judy, I’d have to change my name when I stopped wearing bangs. Have you ever met a seventy year old woman named Judy? It sounds like she should be chewing gum and skipping rope.I’m not making this up. Right before middle age sets in, Cindys become Harriet, or Beatrice, they have that option. All Wendy’s die at puberty. Regrettable, but necessary. I sort of like being called Scotty, besides it’s better than my middle name- Doug. Look, I gotta run. But before I go, I just want to say that I hope all the guys who are sitting here tonight with a girl named Heidi, wake up tomorrow morning with a Desiree.

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ALL THE WAY HOME
by Tad Mosel
MARY

Why don't they all leave? You too, Hannah. For I am not going to the funeral. You were right, Hannah. God is coming harder to me now. And Jay, too! I can't seem to find either one of them. Whatever made Jay do it, ever! The night we moved into this house, where did he go! And when he first went to work in Papa's office--! (stopping, remembering more softly) Not when Rufus was born, though. He was very dearly close to me then, very. But other times, he'd feel himself being closed in, watched by superinten-dents, he'd say, and--There was always a special quietness about him afterwards, when he came home, as if he were very far away from where he'd been, but very far away from me, too, keeping his distance, but working his way back. No, I'm not going to the funeral. Do you think he'll rest simply by lowering him into the ground? I won't watch it. How can he rest when he was lost on the very day he died! That's just what I don't know, if he was lost, or drunk or what. I never knew. Not for sure. There were times we all knew about, of course, but there were other times when it wasn't always the whiskey. He'd be gone for a night, or a day, or even two, and I'd know he hadn't' touched a drop. And it wasn't any of the other things that come to a woman's mind, either, in case you're thinking that. Those are easy enemies. It was Market Square. And talking to country people about country secrets that go way back through the mountains. And anyone who'd sing his old songs with him. Or all-night lunch rooms, and even Charlie Chaplin. What's wrong with Charlie, he'd ask me, not because he didn't know what I'd say, but to make me say it. He's so nasty, I'd say, so vulgar, with his nasty little cane, looking up skirts. And Jay would laugh and go off to see Charlie Chaplin and not come home. Where he went, I can't even imagine, for he'd never tell me. It was always easier to put everything down to whiskey. Why couldn't I let him have those things, whatever they were, if they meant something to him? Why can't I let him have them now? I'm glad Ralph didn't tell me if Jay were drunk when he was killed. I must just accept not knowing, mustn't I? I must let Jay have what I don't know. What if he was drunk? What in the world if he was? Did I honestly think that was a gulf. This is a gulf! If he was drunk, Hannah, just if he was, I hope he loved being. Speeding along in the night--singing at the top of his lungs--racing because he loved to go fast--racing to us because he loved us. And for the time, enjoying--revelling in a freedom that was his, that no place or person, that nothing in this world could ever give him or take away from him. Let's hope that's how it was, how he looked death itself in the face. In his strength. That's what we'll put on the gravestone. In his strength.

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Will you give back what you stole from the monasteries, and the men executed? Will you resume with Rome? When you do that I*ll take your word again, But you won*t do it. And what you truly want— you may not know it— Is a fresh, frail, innocent maid who*ll make you feel fresh and innocent again, and young again; Jane Seymour is the name. It could be anyone. Only virginal and sweet. And when you*ve had her you*ll want someone else. Meanwhile, to get her, you*ll murder if you must. (Lashinq out.) Before you go, perhaps You should hear one thing— I lied to you. I loved you, but I lied to you! I was untrue! Untrue with many! You may think this is a lie. But is it? Take it to your grave! Believe it! I was untrue! Only what I take to my grave you take to yours! With many! Not with one! Many! I*ve never thought what it was like to die. To become meat that rots. Then food for shrubs, and the long roots of vines. The grape could reach me. I may make him drunk before many years. Some one told me the story of the homely daughter of Sir Thomas More, climbing at night up the trestles of London Bridge where they*d stuck her father*s head on a spike, and hunting among the stinking and bloody heads, of criminals, still she found her father*s head, his beard matted and hard with blood. And climbing down with it, and taking it home. To bury in the garden, perhaps. Would they fIx my head up on London Bridge? No. Even Henry would object to that. I*ve been his queen. He*s kissed my lips. He wouldn*t want it. I*ll lie in lead—or brass. Meat. Dead meat. But if my head were on the Bridge he wouldn*t climb to take it down. Nobody*d climb for me. I could stay and face up the river, and my long hair blow out and tangle round the spikes—and my small neck. Till the sea birds took me, and there was nothing but a wisp of hair and a cup of bone. I must think of something to say when the time comes. If I could say it—with the axe edge toward me, Could I do it? Could I lay my head down— and smile, and speak? Till the blow comes? They say it*s subtle. It doesn*t hurt. There*s no time. No time. That*s the end of time. Go your way, and I*ll go mine. You to your death, and I to my expiation. For there is such a thing as expiation. It involves dying to live. Death is a thing the coroner can see. I*ll stick by that. A coroner wouldn*t know you died young, Henry. And yet you did.

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ANTON IN SHOW BUSINESS
By Jane Martin
Casey

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THE BAD SEED
Maxwell Anderson
Mrs. Daigle

Thanks. I’m Mrs Daigle. You didn’t have to let me in, you know. I’m a little drunk. I guess you never get a little drunk. Now, you, Mrs. Penmark. You’ve always had plenty. You’re a superior person. Oh yes, your father was rich. Rich Richard Bravo. I know. Me, I worked in a beauty parlor. Miss Fern used to come there. She looks down on me. I was that frumpy blonde. Now I’ve lost my boy and I’m a lush. Everybody knows it. But I know what I’m about just the same. Just the same. May I call you Christine? I’m quite aware that you come from a higher level of society. You prolly made a debut and all that. I always considered Christine such a genteel name. Hortense sounds flat—that’s me, Hortense. "My girl, Hortense," that’s what hey used to sing at me, "hasn’t got much sense. Let’s write her name on the privy fence." Children can be nasty, don’t you think? You’re so attractive Christine. You have such exquisite taste in clothes, but of course you have amples of money to buy ‘em with. What I came to see you about, I asked Miss Fern how did Claude happen to lose the medal, and she wouldn’t tell me a thing. You know more than you’re telling. You’re a sly one—because of the school. You don’t want the school to get a bad name. But you know more than you’re telling, Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt Fern. There’s something funny about the whole thing. I’ve said so over and over to Mr. Daigle. Rest. Sleep. When you can’t sleep at night, you can’t sleep in the daylight. I lie and look at the water where he went down. There’s something funny about the whole thing, Christine. I heard that your little girl was the last one who saw him alive. Will you ask her about the last few minutes and tell me what she says? Maybe she remembers some little thing. I don’t care how small it is! No matter how small! Oh, my poor little Claude! What did they do to you? Somebody took the medal off his shirt, Christine. It couldn’t come off by accident. I pinned it on myself, and it had a clasp that locks in place. It was no accident. He was such a lovely, dear little boy. He said I was his sweetheart. He said he was going to marry me when he grew up. I used to laugh and say, "You’ll forget me long before then. You’ll find a prettier girl, and you’ll marry her." And you know what he said then? He said, "No, I won’t, because there’s not a prettier girl in the whole world than you are." Why do you put your arms around me? You don’t give a damn about me. You’re a superior person and all that, and I’m—oh, God forgive me! There were those bruises on his hands, and that peculiar crescent-shaped mark on his forehead that the undertaker covered up. He must have bled before he died. That’s’s what the doctor said. And where’s the medal? Who took the medal? I have a right to know what became to the penmanship medal! If I knew, I’d have a good idea what happened to him. I don’t; know hwy you took it on yourself to put your arms around me. I’m as good as you are. And Claude was better than your girl. He won the medal, and she didn’t—I’m drunk. It’s a pleasure to stay drunk when your little boy’s been killed.

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BROADWAY BOUND
by Neil Simon
KATE

What do I want to do? Is that how it works? You have an affair, and I get the choice of forgetting about it or living alone for the rest of my life?...It’s so simple for you, isn’t it? I am so angry. I am so hurt by your selfishness. You break what was good between us and leave me to pick up the pieces...and still you continue to lie to me. I knew about that woman a year ago. I got a phone call from a friend. I won’t even tell you who..."What’s going on with you and Jack?" she asks me. "Are you two still together? Who’s this woman he’s having lunch with every day?" She asks me...I said, "Did you see them together?" ,,She said, "No, but I heard."...I said, "don’t believe what you hear. Believe what you see!" and I hung up on her...Did I do good, Jack? Did I defend my husband like a good wife?...A year I lived wit that, hoping to God it wasn’t true, and if it was, praying it would go away...and God was good to me. NO more phone calls, no more stories about Jack and his lunch partner...no more wondering why you were coming home late from work even when it wasn’t busy season...until this morning. Guess who calls me?...Guess who Jack was having lunch with in the same restaurant twice last week?... Last year’ lies don’t hold up this year, Jack...This year you have to deal with it

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I don*t know when I stopped living my life and my life started living me. (A beat.) My mother was a Christian. A Bible slamming, fire and brimstone, halleluhjah Christian. I remember the day — the night — of her conversion. I was sleeping. She tore into the apartment — I slept on the couch — and she was out of breath, and her hair was, well, some of it had slipped out from under the elastic band she always had it pulled back in. And she ran around the room turning on all the lamps, and she turned on the light in the little half-kitchen, and she turned on the lights in her bedroom and left the door open so the light came into theliving room where I was sleeping. I sat up, I was scratching and trying to straighten the crumpled sheets under me with my eyes closed the lights were so bright and I asked her, "Ma why are you turning all the lights on like that it hurts my eyes." And she rushed over to me and she pulled me off the couch onto the floor and said, "Evelyn, we*re gonna get down on our knees and pray. In the light. And we*re gonna pray to the Lord that we may always live in the light. The clean, pure holy light that falls down on us from the good Lord in heaven." We*d never prayed in our lives. I didn*t even know what praying was, really. I knew people prayed in church. I*d seen pictures of churches, and they always looked beautiful and scary with the colored lights all coming through the stained glass windows and shiny wood benches and gigantic stone arches, and I wondered how in hell we were gonna pray in our little apartment with the greasy walls and the chipped tile floors and bare lightbulbs — scary but not beautiful like the churches. (A beat.) All Mother wanted was a man who wouldn*t leave her so she brought God home. And he stayed. Mother went crazy with religion. And as soon as I was old enough, I did the only thing I could think to do. I got pregnant and left home. Amen

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BUMS
by Robert Shaffron
Mary

by William Inge

CHERIE

Mebbe I'm a sap. I dunno why I don't go off to Montana and marry Bo. I might be a lot better off'n I am now. But all he wants is a girl to throw his arms around and hug and kiss, that's all. The resta the time, he don't even know I exist. I never did decide to marry him. Everything was goin' fine till he brought up that subjeck. Bo come in one night when I was singin' "That Ole Black Magic." It's one a my best numbers. And he liked it so much, he jumped up on a chair and yelled like a Indian, and put his fingers in his mouth and whistled like a steam engine. Natur'ly, it made me feel good. Most a the customers at the Blue Dragon was too drunk to pay any attention to my songs. Anyway...I'd never seen a cowboy before. Oh, I'd seen 'em in movies, a course, but never in the flesh...Anyway, he's so darn healthy-lookin', I don't mind admittin, I was attracted right from the start. But it was only what ya might call a sexual attraction. The very next mornin', he wakes up and hollers, "Yippee! We're gettin' married." I honestly thought he was crazy. But when I tried to reason with him, he wouldn't listen to a word. He stayed by my side all day long, like a shadow. At night, a course, he had to go back to the rodeo, but he was back to the Blue Dragon as soon as the rodeo was over, in time fer the midnight show. If any other fella claimed t'have a date with me, Bo'd beat him up. He kep tellin' me all week, he and Virge'd be by the night the rodeo ended and they'd pick me up and we'd all start back to Montana t'gether. I knew that if I was around the Blue Dragon that night, that's what'd happen. So I decided to beat it. One a the other girls at the Blue Dragon lived on a farm 'cross the river in Kansas. She said I could stay with her. So I went to the Blue Dragon last night and just sang fer the first show. Then I told 'em I was quittin'...I'd been wantin' to find another job anyway...and I picked up my share of the kitty...but darn it, I had to go and tell 'em I was takin' the midnight bus. They had to go and tell Bo, a course, when he come in a li'l after eleven. He paid 'em five dollars to find out. So I went down to the bus station and hadn't even got my ticket, when here come Bo and Virge. He just steps up to the ticket window and says, "Three tickets to Montana!" I din know what to say. Then he dragged me onto the bus and I been on it ever since. And somewhere deep down inside me, I gotta funny feelin' I'm gonna end up in Montana.

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CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF #1
by Tennesse Williams
Margaret/Maggie

Yes, it's too bad because you cant wring their necks if they've got no necks to wring! Isn't that right honey? Yep, they're no-neck monsters, all no-neck people are monsters? (children shriek downstairs) Hear them? Hear them screaming? I don't know where their voice boxes are located since they don't have necks. I tell you I got so nervous at that table tonight, I thought I would throw back my head and utter a scream you could hear across the Arkansas border an' parts of Louisiana an' Tennessee. I said to our charming sister-in-law, Mae, "honey, couldn't you feed those precious little things at a separate table with an oilcloth cover? They make such a mess an' the lace cloth looks so pretty!" She made enormous eyes at me and said, "Ohhh, nooooo! On Big Daddy's birthday? Why, he would never forgive me!" Well, I want you to know, Big Daddy hadn't been at the table two minutes with those five no-neck monsters slobbering and drooling over their food before he threw down his fork an' shouted, "Fo' God's sake, Gooper, why don't you put them pigs at a trough in th' kitchen?"- Well, I swear, I simply could have di-ieed! Think of it, Brick, they've got five of them and number six is coming. They've brought the whole bunch down here like animals to display at a county fair. Why, they have those children doin' tricks all the time! "Junior, show Big Daddy how you do this, show Big Daddy how you do that, say your little piece fo' Big Daddy, Sister. Show you dimples, Sugar. Brother, show Big Daddy how you stand on your head!"- it goes on all the time, along with constant little remarks and innuendos about the fact that you and I have not produced any children, are totally childless and therefore totally useless!- Of course it's comical but its also disgusting since it so obvious what they're up to!

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CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF #2
by Tennessee Williams
Margaret

Brick, y'know, I've been so God damn disgustingly poor all my life!- that's the truth, Brick! Always had to suck up to people I couldn't stand because they had money and I was poor as Job's turkey. You don't know what that's like. Well, I'll tell you, its like you would feel a thousand miles away from Echo Spring!- And had to get back to it on that broken ankle? without a crutch! That's how it feels to be as poor as Job's turkey and have to suck up to relatives that you hated because they had money and all you had was a bunch of hand-me-down clothes and a few old moldy three-per-cent government bonds. My daddy loved his liquor, he fell in love with his liquor the way you've fallen in love with Echo Spring!- And my poor Mama, having to maintain some semblance of social position, to keep appearances up, on an income of one hundred and fifty dollars a month on those old government bonds! When I came out, the year that I made my debut, I had just two evening dresses! One, mother made me from a pattern in Vogue, the other a hand-me-down from a snotty rich cousin I hated! - The dress that I married you in was my grandmother's weddin' gown? So that's why I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof! You can be young without money, but you can't be old without it. You've got to be old with money because to be old without it is just too awful, you've got to be one or the other, either young or with money, you cant be old and without it. - That's the truth, Brick? Well, now I'm dressed, I'm all dressed, there's nothing else for me to do. (Forlornly, almost fearfully) I'm dressed, all dressed, nothing else for me to do? (She moves about restlessly, aimlessly, and speaks, as if to herself.) What am I-? Oh!-my bracelets? (She starts working a collection of bracelets over her hands onto her wrists, about six on each, as she talks.) I've thought a whole lot about it and now I know when I made my mistake. Yes, I made a mistake when I told you the truth about that thing with Skipper. Never should have confessed it, a fatal error, tellin' you about that thing with Skipper.

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(To God, as if she is in church.) Hey, come on out, I want to talk to you. It*s me, Elizabeth. You can hide behind any statue in this place, but you better listen to me. I don*t know if you know this but after my grandmother moved in with us, everything was different. We used to sit in my room, after school. She*d ask me questions about all sorts of things. Then she*d listen to my answers real close because she said I was an important person. Some nights, after we went to bed, I would hear her talking to my grandfather in the dark. If I made any noise she*d stop. Because it was private. One night I saw that she was crying. I made some noise and she stopped. Then she asked me if I remembered my grandfather. I did, she liked that. We fell asleep on her bed like sisters. Sunday mornings were kind of strange. Nobody would give up eating bacon and some smells made her sick. My father would tell her if the grease bothered her so much, to take her eggs and go into the bedroom and wait until breakfast was over. I helped her stuff towels into the cracks under the door; but the smell got in anyway. Then my father would make me come back to the table and eat with the rest of the family I*d go, but I wouldn*t eat that bacon. Sometimes, if she was feeling a little better we*d take short walks. After we had rested, she*d tell me stories about my mother and bring along pictures that I had never seen. I didn*t know why my mother was so sad and neither did my grandmother. One day, my father came home from work and told me that my grandmother would have to move back to the Bronx. He said it was just not working out. She needed more care and besides she was making the family crazy. I told him that she wasn*t making me crazy I told him she let me be near her. He didn*t understand that. And now I see that you didn*t either. You took her and I don*t think that*s fair. You*re supposed to do the right thing, all the time. I don*t believe that anymore. You just like to punish people, you like to interrupt their lives. You didn*t let me finish. She doesn*t know what I think, and I was almost ready to tell her. Why don*t you take my mother next time? Oh, you like to take little kids, don*t you? Grab one of my brothers next, they*re all baptized. Why don*t you take my whole stinking family, in one shot, then you won*t waste any time. That would be some joke. But I want to tell you something. It*s a personal message, I*m delivering it, myself Don*t you ever lay your hands on me, cause if I ever see you, you can strike me dead. . . try . . . I will spit all over your face, whatever it looks like. Because you and everyone else in this world are one big pack of liars. And I really think I hate you. Something else: You don*t exist.

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I won’t sit here and be accused. I am not having an affair with your husband. It*s not me! Alright!! I admit it! What do you want me to do? We fell in love! You*re such a bully! Bully! Bully! We fell in love--nobody planned it--nobody wanted to hurt anyone. This affair has caused us nothing but anguish and pain. Don*t dirty it up--it*s not what you think. It’s not just about sex. Stop being so judgmental--you know from your work these things happen--it*s chemistry--two people meet--and a spark flares up and suddenly it has a life of its own. It*s serious, Phyllis. It’s been going on for barely three years. We haven*t been sneaking around town--we have an apartment. The East Fifties. It’s small. Only three rooms. Stop being snotty--we*re trying to communicate— It*s just a place to go to, to be calone--to relax--to--to--to talk— Phyllis, we*re in love--oh God--I never thought I*d be saying this--it*s--everything--yes, it*s sensual, but it*s more--we share feelings and dreams. Phyllis, what do you want me to say? He fell out of love with you years ago. I don*t know why. Certainly not over me. It was finished in Sam*s mind between you two before he ever said anything to me. It happened New Year*s Eve at Lou Stein*s party. There was no groping. It wasn*t like that. He came over to me--I was watching the fireworks--and he whispered in my ear--can you meet me next week for lunch without mentioning anything to Phyllis. Well, as you can imagine, I was a bit surprised. I said, why? And he said I need your help on something. You had led a group out onto the terrace, against their will, in the five degree temperature, to watch the fireworks. And Howard was in the kitchen getting the Stein*s recipe for Babaganoush. And I said, what kind of help? With what? And Sam said, Phyllis*s birthday is soon and I want you to help me get her something but it has got to be something special. So the following Thursday we met for lunch at his club and we pitched some gift ideas back and forth. And after lunch we went on our shop--I remember going to Bergdorfs and Tiffany*s and James Robinson and finally in this tiny old antique store on First Avenue we found a stunning pair of art-deco earrings--diamonds with tiny rubies— Well, I was flabbergasted. He bought them, and we walked out on the street and then he handed the box to me and said, "Here, I want you so badly." I said, whoa--wait a minute--we came to buyPhyllis a birthday gift--if I take this we have to at least pick out something for her. Yes, we got you’re the silver candlesticks...Please, they cost a fortune! Phyllis, face it. He couldn*t stand being married to you anymore and he told me that over lunch--he initiated the relationship.. he salivated over me--he looked me in the eye at lunch and tears formed--I*m not happy, he said— so. From the first moment Howard and I met you and Sam I knew he was miserable. This woman is not making him happy--I told that to Howard that first night we met you two—She may be a brilliant shrink and the center of every conversation with some new variation of how great she is—but she’s not enough woman for him—she’s not thre to gudie him—to bring him coffee–Sam had tremendous hostility—but you know that now. I did nothing wrong. Your husband stopped loving you before he met me. Believe me, I did not seduce Sam. He played around plenty before I came on the scene. Face up to it! Ask Edith Moss and Steve Pollack’s secretary. Don’t lay it all on me! I didn’t turn your husband into a philanderer. You’re such a phoeny—pretending your marriage is so perfect—You were a laughing stock.

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Hi. My name is Hannah Mae Bindler. I live right across there, across that little patch of grass. My back door faces your back door. If you saw someone painting our place last week and figured someone was moving in, well, Honey, you were a hundred percent right, cause we just did. Me and my lug Carl Joe. We*re your new next door neighbors. How about a cup of coffee? (Takes cup out of purse.) I brought my own cup. I don*t leave you much choice, do I? If I was you, I*d fill my cup and ask me to sit down. Already we couldn*t be happier with Westchester County and we only hope Westchester County can be happy with us. Back home in little ol* Austin, Tcxas, Westchester County is notorious for its opulent homes, proximity to the Big City, and wives constantly messing around. Saw you mowing your lawn last night. Immediately I became intrigued. I love physical activity, but Carl Joe doesn*t permit me. Then you were done. The light goes on in your TV room. You sit down, but you don*t turn it on. You just sit there looking at the blank screen. "Goddang," says me to myself, "this is one Westchester honey who*s different. Must be some kind of unique thoughts filling up her head." Boy, am I excited. When I get excited, I have trouble breathing. It*s a common occurrence with people of passion. Finally your light goes out. I don*t go upstairs to Carl Joe, no ma*am. I sleep right there on the couch near the window. When 1 wake up, Carl Joe*s already on the train to work, and Goddang if my smile wasn*t better than ever. That*s when I knew that little ole me had to come knock at your door and say "Hi!" Hi! You*re just like my sister Lucy Sue. Boys used to say she was born to moan. Anyway, Lucy Sue wasn*t much of a talker either. The more you want her to say something, the quieter she gets. Standing there like she knew a whole lot of stuff about you that was way over your head. One day I figured her out. She didn*t have any secrets. Just didn*t really trust the thoughts she did think and was afraid that saying ‘em out I wouldn*t look up to her no more. (Phone rings. After third ring.) Honey, your phone*s ringing. Sure you got yourself a sweet-looking kitchen. Everything where it oughta be. Right out of Better Homes and Gardens. Got to bring Carl Joe by and show it to him. We*re remodeling and we still haven*t landed on the right color scheme. Wait till you see the shoulders on Carl Joe! A guy*s body ain*t supposed to mean as much to us as ours do to them, but on our second date he took off his shirt and that was it. Carl Joe played tackle for Texas football back in the late ‘50s and like he says,"Except you, Hannah Mae, everything since then*s been a real anti-climax. Really love the lug.

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Oh, my God! That worries me so. Suppose I think I*m in love with a man and I marry him and it turns out I*m not in love with him. (A pause.) What does being in love mean? I wish I didn’t think so much. I wish to heaven I didn*t. Everything bad that happens to a girl I begin to worry it will happen to me. All night I*ve been worrying. Part of the time I*ve been worrying that I*d end an old maid like Aunt Sarah, and part of the time I worry that I*ll fall in love with someone like Syd and defy Papa and run off with him and then realize I made a mistake and part of the time I worry.. (A pause.) that what happened to Sibyl Thomas will happen to me and.. (A pause.) could what happened to Sibyl Thomas ever happen to you? I don*t mean the dying part. I know we all have to die. I mean the other part having a baby before she was married. How do you think it happened to her? Do you think he loved her? Do you think it was the only time she did? You know.. (A pause.) Old, common, Anna Landry said in the girls room at school, she did it whenever she wanted to, with whomever she wanted to and nothing ever happened to her. And if it did she would get rid of it. How do women do that? I guess we*ll never know. I don*t trust Anna Landry and I don*t know who else to ask. Can you imagine the expression on Mama*s face, or Aunt Lucy*s or Mrs. Cookenboo*s if I asked them something like that? (A pause.) Anyway, even if I knew I would be afraid to do something like that before I got married for fear God would strike me dead. (A pause.) Aunt Sarah said that Sibyl*s baby dying was God*s punishment of her sin. Aunt Lucy said if God punished sinners that way there would be a lot of dead babies

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CRIMES OF THE HEART
by Beth Henley
BABE

I can't tell you what happened right before I shot on account of I'm protecting someone. (after a moment) Well, do you remember Willie Jay? Cora's youngest boy? Well, Cora irons at my place on Wednesdays now, and she just happened to mention that Willy Jay'd picked up this old stray dog and that he'd gotten real fond of him. But now they couldn't afford to feed him anymore. So she was gonna have to tell Willie Jay to set him loose in the woods. Well, I said I liked dogs, and if he wanted to bring the dog over here, I'd take care of him. You see, I was alone by myself most of the time 'cause the Senate was in session and Zackery was up in Jackson. So the next day, Willie brings over this skinny old dog with these little crossed eyes. Well, I asked Willie Jay what his name was, and he said they called him Dog. Well, I liked the name, so I thought I'd keep it. Anyway, when Willy Jay was leaving he gave Dog a hug and said "Goodbye, Dog. You're a fine ole dog." Well, I felt something for him, so I told Willie Jay he could come back and visit with Dog any time he wanted, and his face just kinda lit right up. Anyhow, time goes on and Willie Jay keeps coming over and over. And we talk about Dog and how fat he's getting, and then, well, you know, things start up. Like sex. Like that. I know he's fifteen and a black boy. I was so lonely. And he was good. Oh, he was so, so good. I'd never had it that good. We'd always go out in the garage and....anyway, we were just standing around on the back porch playing with Dog. Well, suddenly Zackery comes from around the side of the house. And he startled me 'cause he';s supposed to be away at the office, and there he is coming from round the side of the house. Anyway, he says to Willie Jay, "Hey, boy, what are you doing back here?" And I say, "He's not doing anything. You just go on home, Willie Jay! You just run right on home." Well, before he can move, Zackery comes up and knocks him once right across the face and then shoves him down the porch steps, causing him to skin up his elbow real bad on that hard concrete. Then he says, "Don't you ever come around here again, or I'll have them cut out your gizzard!" Well, Willie Jay starts crying--these tears come streaming down his face--then he gets up real quick and runs away, with Dog following off after him. After that, I don't remember much too clearly; let's see...I went on into the living room, and I went right up to the davenport and opened the drawer where we keep the burglar gun...I took it out. Then I heard the back door slamming. So I waited for Zackery to come on into the living room. Then I held out the gun and I pulled the trigger, aiming for his heart but getting him in the stomach.. (after a pause) It's funny that I really did that.

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CRIMES OF THE HEART 2
by Beth Henley
BABE

After I shot Zackery, I put the gun down on the piano bench, and then I went out into the kitchen and made up a pitcher of lemonade. I was dying of thirst. My mouth was just as dry as a bone. I made it just the way I like it, with lots of sugar and lots of lemon- about ten lemons in all. Then I added two trays of ice and stirred it up with my wooded stirring spoon. Then I drank three glasses, one right after the other. They were large glasses- about this tall. Then suddenly my stomach kind of swole all up. I guess what caused it was all that sour lemon Then what I did was? I wiped my mouth off with the back of my hand, like this? I did it to clear off all those little beads of water that had settled there. Then I called out to Zackery. I said, "Zackery, I've made some lemonade. Can you use a glass?" But he didn't answer. So I poured him a glass anyway and I took it out to him. And there he was, lying on the rug. And he was looking up at me trying to speak words. I said "What? ?Lemonade?? You don't want it? Would you like a Coke instead?" Then I got the idea- he was telling me to call on the phone for medical help. So I got on the phone and called up the hospital. I gave my name and address and I told them my husband was shot and he was lying on the rug and there was plenty of blood. I guess that's gonna look kinda bad. Me fixing that lemonade before I called the hospital. I tell you, I think the reason I made up the lemonade, I mean besides the fact that my mouth was bone dry, was that I was afraid to call the authorities. I was afraid. I - I really think I was afraid they would see that I had tried to shoot Zackery, in fact that I had shot him, and they would accuse me of possible murder and send me away to jail. I mean, in fact, that's what did happen. That's what is happening - 'cause here I am just about ready to go right off to the Parchment Prison Farm. Yes, here I am just practically on the brink of utter doom. Why, I feel so all alone.

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THE CRUCIBLE
by Arthur Miller
Mary Warren

I never knew it before. I never knew anything before. When she come into the court I say to myself, I must not accuse this woman, for she sleeps in ditches, and so very old and poor. But then- then she sit there, denying and denying, and I feel a misty coldness climbin' up my back, and the skin on my skull begin to creep, and I feel a clamp around my neck and I cannot breathe air; and then (entranced) I hear a voice, a screamin' voice, and it were my voice- and all at once I remembered everything she done to me! (Like one awakened to a marvelous secret insight) So many times, Mr. Proctor, she come to this very door, beggin' bread and a cup of cider-and mark this: whenever I turned her away empty, she mumbled. But what does she mumble? You must remember, Goody Proctor. Last month-a Monday, I think--she walked away, and I thought my guts would burst for two days after. Do you remember it? And so I told that to Judge Hathorne, and he asks her so. "Sarah Good," says he, "what curse do you mumble that this girl must fall sick after turning you away?" And then she replies (mimicking an old crone) "Why, your excellence, no curse at all. I only say my commandments; I hope I may say my commandments," says she! Then Judge Hathorne say, "Recite for us your commandments!" (Leaning avidly toward them) And of all the ten she could not say a single one. She never knew no commandments, and they had her in a flat lie!

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DARK AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS
by William Inge
LOTTIE

Cora, did you hear what the old maid said to the burglar? You see, the burglar came walking into her bedroom with this big, long billy club and...(she is laughing so hard she can hardly finish the story)...and the old maid...she was so green she didn't know what was happening to her, she said...(stopped by Cora, and a bit shamed and embarrassed) Shucks, Cora, I don't see what's wrong in having a little fun just telling stories. Oh, Mama and Papa, Mama and Papa! I know the way they brought us up. And maybe they didn't know as much as we gave them credit for. Do you remember how Mama and Papa used to caution us about men, Cora? My God, they had me so afraid of ever giving in to a man, I was petrified. So were you until Rubin came along and practically raped you. (chuckling at the memory) My God, Cora, he had you pregnant inside of two weeks after he started seeing you. I never told. I never even told Morris. My God, do you remember how Mama and Papa carried on when they found out? And Papa had his stroke just a month after you were married. Oh, I just thought Rubin was the wickedest man alive. Maybe I shoulda married a man like that. I don't know. Maybe it was as much my fault as Morris'. Maybe I didn't...respond right...from the very first. Cora, I'll tel you something. Something I've never told another living soul. I never did enjoy it the way some women...say they do. Why are you so surprised? Because I talk kinda dirty at times? But that's all it is, is talk. I talk all the time just to convince myself that I'm alive. And i stuff myself with victuals just to feel I've got something inside me. And I'm full of all kinds of crazy curiosity about...all the things in life I seem to have missed out on. Now I'm telling you the truth, Cora. Nothing ever really happened to me while it was going on. That first night Morris and I were together, right after we were married, when we were in bed together for the first time, after it was all over, and he had fallen asleep, I lay there in bed wondering what in the world all the cautioning had been about. Nothing had happened to me at all, and I thought Mama and Papa musta been makin' things up. So don't come to me for sympathy, Cora. I'm not the person to give it to you.

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‘DENTITY CRISIS
by Christopher Durang
JANE

When I was eight years old, someone brought me to a theatre with lots of other children. We had come to see a production of Peter Pan. And I remember something seemed wrong with whole production, odd things kept happening. Like when the children would fly, the ropes breaking and the actors would come thumping to ground an they'd have to be carried off by the stagehands. There seemed to be an unlimited supply of understudies to take the children's places, and then they'd fall to the ground. And then the crocodile that chases Captain Hook seemed to be a real crocodile, It wasn't an actor, and at one point it fell off the stage, crushing several children in the front row. Several understudies came and took their places in the audience. And from scene to scene Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally by the second act she was immobile and had to be moved with a cart. The voice belonged to the actress playing peter pan. You remember how in the second act Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter's about to drink, in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and he says that Tinkerbell's going to die because not enough people believe in fairies, but that if everybody in the audience claps real hard to show that they do believe in fairies, then maybe Tinkerbell won't die. and so then all the children started to clap. we clapped very hard and very long. my palms hurt and even started to bleed I clapped so hard. then suddenly the actress playing Peter Pan turned to the audience and she said, " that wasn't enough. You didn't clap hard enough. Tinkerbell's dead. " uh..well, and..and then everyone started to cry. The actress stalked offstage and refused to continue with the play, and they finally had to bring down the curtain. No one could see anything through all the tears, and the ushers had to come help the children up the aisles and out into the street. I don't think any of us were ever the same after that experience.

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DIARY OF ADAM AND EVE
Eve

(Staring our front, taking in the world for a moment) Sunlight? Hummingbirds? Lions? Where am I? I? What am I? (She looks down at herself) OH!! Whatever I am, I’m certainly a beautiful one. (She laughs suddenly) It’s very peculiar—but I feel like—an experiment. (Laughing again) In fact, it would be impossible to feel more like an experiment than I do. Then am I the whole experiment? (She carefully surveys herself again) I don’t think so. I better start making notes right now. Some instinct tells me these details are going to be important to the historians some day. Saturday. June 1^st. Eden. Note: I arrived, feeling exactly like an experiment. Around me there is an incredible profusion of the most delightful objects. So many creatures and things, each is wondrous and beautiful. I see nothing that isn’t to my liking here in Eden. There’s plums and peaches and grapes, and the apples are especially inviting. It’s all so perfect and ideal, and yet I have one tiny reservation. There’s no one to talk to. Now, how did I get here? Where did I come from? What is my ultimate aim? I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m here. I just wish there was someone to talk to. (She sees Adam carrying in a fish) Drop that pickerel, you monster!! Put it back, do you hear me? If you don’t throw that pickerel back, I’m going to clod you right out of that tree. And don’t you ever do that again, you bully! I’m warning you! Now, I must talk to you. Please come down. There is something and I think it’s immensely important. I want to talk to you about us. What’s us? That’s a name I thought of. It means you and me. I think we’ve both been put here for a great and noble experiment! I think I’m the main part of this experiment, but you have a share in it, too. You see, you’re the only other animal that can talk! What? The parrot can talk, too? I didn’t know that! Well, I call it a parrot because that’s what it looks like. I just happen to have this talent. The minute I set eyes on an animal, I know what it is. I don’t have to think. The right name comes out by inspiration. So far, you’re the only exception. What is your name? Adam...Adam... Why do you hate me so much? I just can’t understand it! I’m a very interesting person. And if you’d only talk to me nicely, I could be twice as interesting. (Adam leaves) Somehow we got off on the wrong foot. I seem to aggravate it. I think it’s a reptile. But I do wonder what it’s for. I never see it do anything. Nothing seems to interest it—except resting. It’s a man!! If it is a man, then it isn’t an it, is it? No. It should be: Nominative: He. Dative: Him. Possessive: His’n. Adam....that sound is pleasanter in my ears than any I have heard so far.

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DIARY OF ANNE FRANK
ANNE

Look, Peter, the sky. (she looks up through the skylight) What a lovely, lovely day! Aren't the clouds beautiful? You know what I do when it seems as if I couldn't stand being cooped up for one more minute? I think myself out. I think myself on a walk in the park where I used to go with Pim. Where the jonquils and the crocus and the violets grow down the slopes. You know the most wonderful part about thinking yourself out? You can have it any way you like. You can have roses and violets and chrysanthemums all blooming at the same time? It's funny. I used to take it all for granted. And now I've gone crazy about everything to do with nature. Haven't you? (softly) I wish you had a religion, Peter. Oh, I don't mean you have to be Orthodox, or believe in heaven and hell and purgatory and things. I just mean some religion. It doesn't matter what. Just to believe in something! When I think of all that's out there. The trees. And flowers. And seagulls. When I think of the dearness of you, Peter. And the goodness of people we know. Mr. Kraler, Miep, Dirk, the vegetable man, all risking their lives for us everyday. When I think of these good things, I'm not afraid any more. I find myself, and God, and I... We're not the only people that've had to suffer. There've always been people that've had to. Sometimes one race, sometimes another, and yet...I know it's terrible, trying to have any faith when people are doing such horrible things, but you know what I sometimes think? I think the world may be going through a phase, the way I was with Mother. It'll pass, maybe not for hundreds of years, but some day I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are really good at heart. Peter, if you'd only look at it as part of a great pattern? That we're just a little minute in the life? (she breaks off) Listen to us, going at each other like a couple of stupid grownups! Look at the sky now. Isn't it lovely?

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Ick! Don’t let those worms near me. I’m not about to let them touch me. How come? Cause I don’t like worms. That’s how come. If it was me, I’d make that preacher dig em up himself and put em in the can. Who ever heard of a man askin you out to go fishin and then makin you do all the work? Worms wouldn’t bother me so much, see? But they used to be able to walk. It*s true, Jennie Mae. Don*t you guys read the Bible? (Not too happy about the fact.) Yeah, I gotta learn the whole thing. Like, say I*m sittin at the table and I want seconds on dessert, Aunt Norma says, "Give me a verse first, Darlene." If I didn*t know the Bible I*d starve to death, see? But I been learnin who Adam and Eve are.You heard a them, ain*t you? The first people. And they*re livin in this great big old garden in Europe. And the thing about Eve is she*s walkin around pickin berries and junk with no clothes on. Listen, Jennie Mae, they were like doin it all the time. All the time, Jennie Mae. That kind a stuff happens in Europe. But like I*m sayin, this snake comes strollin up, see? And he tells her how she*s sittin there jaybird stark naked. Oh, there*s lots crazier stuff*n that in the Bible. Like there*s people turnin to stone. One minute they*re sittin there just shootin the breeze—and the next thing you know they*re all rocks! Lots a wierd stuff. So anyway, this business a bein naked really sets God off at the snake, see? Cause with Eve bein so dumb she didn*t get in any trouble, but now it*s like a whole not her ball game. And God wasn*t just mad at this one snake either—he was mad at all a the snakes and all a the worms in the world. So he tells em "From now on you guys*re gonna crawl around in the dirt!" God says, "From now on nobody likes you." God really said that. Right in the Bible. Later on he gets really mad and floods the whole world out. He kills em wth water. Floods em right under. He makes it keep rainin, see? It*s in the Bible—it*s true.

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FORTINBRAS
by Lee Blessing
OPHELIA

Yeah, yeah, yeah—I’m Ophelia. Big deal. Who cares? No one did in life—right Pop? Oh, huzzah, hooray, ring the bells. Ophelia the ghost speaks. Of course I spoke. What am I supposed to do? Stand around like him? Ghosts do what they like—haven’t you figured that out? We’re supernatural. Super-natural. Got it? At least compared to you. Why am I here? I haven’t come to you. I’m just here to collect this old idiot. I’ll tell you what ghosts know. They know what they did wrong in life. It’s all they can ever think about. That and a second chance—which never comes. Right, Dad? Dad talked too much in life. You see where that got him. Now he’s afraid to open his mouth. It’s really the only good thing I can say about being dead. Hey, Dad—I think I’m still in love with Hamlet. What should I do? (She laughs) Do you really want to know what he’s been yearning to say when he comes to see you? The truth—that’s all. About anything. When he was alive he couldn’t tell the truth even when he tried. Now he won’t say anything until he can be absolutely sure it’s true. Which, of course, is never. Isn’t that right, Dad? I was the fool in life. Now it’s him. Do you remember when we last met? Yeah, I was young and fair....you saying I’m not now? Yes, death is a pretty harrowing experience....It’s been hell on my looks, I’ll admit it. You still look great. Didn’t know you could feel me,, eh? It usually comes as a shock. I can turn it on and off. Comes in handy. Say, why don’t you get rid of the girls. We can, um....talk.....unless you’re getting other ideas....Are you coming or not? ...It’s not only possible, it’s terrific. Did you know women don’t reach their sexual peak until after they’re dead? You’re afraid you won’t satisfy me, aren’t you? Don’t worry. You’ll still be the only one who ever tried.

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How did I get the vegetable wagon out without him seeing me? That was easy. Every time he got home for the day he'd make us both some sandwiches--my mama had been dead for years--and then he'd take a nap on the old sofa that used to be...there! And while he was sleeping I hitched up the horses and went riding around the block waving to everyone. I had more nerve than a bear when I was a kid. Let me tell you it takes nerve to sit up on that wagon everyday yelling "Apples! Pears! Cucum...bers!" Then my father came running down the block after me and started spanking me right on top of the wagon--not hard--but it was so embarrassing. And you better believe I never did it again. You would have loved him, and gone out with him on the wagon...all over Stapleton yelling as loud as you wanted, "Apples! Pears! Cucum...bers!" My father made up for all the other men in this whole world, Ruth. If only you two could have met. He'd only be about sixty-five now, do you realize that? And I'll bet he'd still be selling vegetables around town. All that fun and then I don't ever think I really knew what hit me. Well, it was just me and Papa...and your father hanging around. And then Papa got sick...and I drove with him up to the sanatorium. And then I came home and there were the horses...And I had the horses...taken care of. And then Papa got terribly sick and he begged me to marry so that he'd be sure I'd be taken care of. (she laughs) If he knew how I was taken care of he'd turn over in his grave. AND NIGHTMARES! DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THE NIGHTMARE I USED TO HAVE? I never had nightmares over the fights with your father or the divorce. I never had nightmares over any of that. Let me tell you about my nightmare that used to come back and back: Well, I'm on Papa's wagon, but it's newer and shinier and it's being pulled by beautiful white horses, not dirty work horses--these are like--circus horses with long manes and tinsel--and the wagon is blue, shiny blue. And it's full, filled with yellow apples, grapes, and green squash. You're going to laugh when you hear this. I'm wearing a lovely gown all covered with jewels...and my hair is piled up on top of my head with a long feather in it...and bells are ringing, hug bells swinging on a gold braid strung across the back of the wagon, and they're going DONG DONG, DONG DONG, DONG DONG. And I'm yelling APPLES! PEARS! CUCUM...BERS! And then I turn down our street and all the noise stops. This long street with all the doors shut tight and everything crowded next to each other and there's not a soul around. And then I start getting afraid that the vegetables are going to spoil...and that nobody's going to buy anything, and I feel as though I shouldn't be on the wagon, and I keep trying to call out. There's not a sound. Not a single sound...Then I turn my head and I look at this house across the street...I see an upstairs window...the curtains slowly part...And I see the face of my father.

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FATHER’S DAY
By Oliver Hailey
ESTELLE.

I admire Marian very much. At the orphanage, the biggest battle they had with us was self-pity. They were always having people come and talk to us about it. I usually didn't listen. I'd put my fingers in my ears. Who needed it - right? I only remember one old guy - I think he was a Lutheran - but I remember him because he didn't try to kid us. Everybody else was always telling us it didn't matter whether we had a mother or a father-it wasn't that important. He said hell yes it mattered. Face it, we'd gotten a lousy break - but that was the way it was. A husband, a wife, a set of kids -life doesn't always work out that neatly. Sometimes all you get is an aunt in Dubuque who might come and get you next year. Bits and pieces. So what you have to do is take those bits and pieces and ~ only then I put my fingers in my ears again. Because I knew what I was going to do. I was go- ing to get out of that place and get married and raise a family and : no bits and pieces life for me. Only this evening I lost my ., husband - really lost him ~ and the twins are going to love her - and love meeting all the DuPonts - who wouldn't? - and so I'm back to bits and pieces again. Only Marian's shown me what you do with them. You take them and you put them together as best you can. Of course there'll always be people to tell you you can't. You can't make a life that way. Lives aren't made that way. Well, you're wrong, Louise. Lives are made every way. The thing to do is to keep them going. And not to hate. Marian doesn't hate. I'm not going to, either. I wish you wouldn't.

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HOUSE OF BLUE LEAVES
By John Guare
BUNNY

Oh, I love you! You said you’ll come with me to see the Pope! That’s tantamount to a promise. Tantamount. Tantamount. You hear that? I didn’t work in a law office for nix. I could sue you for breach of promise. (Near tears) I know what you’re going to say--- I won’t cook for you—You bend my arm and twist my heart, but I got to be strong. Now rinse your mouth out to freshen up and come on, let’s go. It’s really cold out so dress warm—loook, I stuffed the New York Post in my booties—plastic just ain’t as warm as it used to be. I won’t cook for you! I cooked veal parmigeena for me last night. It was so good I almost died. But I won’t cook for you till after we’re married. I’m no that kind of girl. I’ll sleep with you anytime you want. Anywhere. In two months I’ve know you, did I refuse you once? Not once! You want me to climb in the bag with you right now? Unzip it—go on—unzip it—Give your fingers a smack and I’m flat on my back. I’ll sew those words into a sampler for you in our new home in California. We’ll hang it right by the front door. Because, Artie, I’m a rotten lay and I know it and you know it and everybody knows it—I’m not good in bed. It’s no insult. I took that sex test in the Reader’s Digest two weeks ago and I scored twelve. Twelve, Artie!! I ran out of that dentist office with tears gushing out of my face. But I face up to the truth about myself. So if I cooked for you now and said I won’t sleep with you till we’re married, you’d look forward to sleeping with me so much that by the time we did get to that motel near Hollywood, I’d be such a disappointment, you’d never forgive me. My cooking is the only thing I got to lure you on with and hold you with. Artie, we got to keep some magic for the honeymoon. It’s my first honeymoon and I want it to be so good, I’m aiming for two million calories. I want to cook for you so bad I walk by the A&P , I get all hot jabs of chili powder inside my thighs...but I can’t till we get those tickets to California safe in my purse, till Billy knows we’re coming, till I got that ring right on my cooking finger...Don’t tempt me....I love you...

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You*re staying because you can*t stand Dad’s wrath. You*ve never been able to stand up to his anger. He*s cowed you. He*ll call you ungrateful . . . and you*ll believe him. He*ll lash out at you with his sarcasm, and that will kill this lovely, necessary image you have of yourself as the good son. Can*t you see that? The difference between us is that I accept the inevitable sadness of this world without an acute sense of personal guilt. You don*t. I don*t think anyone expects either of us to ruin our lives for an unreasonable old man. I think this is all rationalization to make tolerable a compulsion you have to stay here. You hate the compulsion, so you*ve dressed it up to look nice. What do you think you*ll find? You hope to find love. Couldn*t you tell from what he just said what you*re going to find? Don*t you understand he*s got to hate you? He may not think it in his head or feel it in his heart, but you are his enemy! From the moment you were born a boy, you were a threat to this man and his enemy. He wants your balls . . . and he*s had them! I*m sorry. I want to shock you. When has he ever regarded you as a man, an equal, a male? When you were a Marine. And that you did for him. Because even back there you were looking for his love. You didn*t want to be a Marine. "Now, Poppa, will you love me?" And he did. No, not love. But he was proud and grateful because you gave him an extension of himself he could boast about, with his phoney set of values. . . . When was he ever proud about the thing you do? The things you value? When did he ever mention your teaching or your books, except in scorn? You*re looking for something that isn*t there, Gene. You*re looking for a Mother*s love in a Father. . . . Mothers are soft and yielding. Fathers are hard and rough, and to teach us the way of the world, which is rough, which is mean, which is selfish and prejudiced. I*ve always been grateful to him for what he did. He taught me a marvelous lesson, and has made me able to face a lot and there has been a lot to face, and I*m grateful as hell to him. Because if I couldn*t get the understanding and compassion from a Father, who could I expect it from, in the world? Who in the world, if not from a Father? So I learned, and didn*t expect it, and I*ve found very little, and so I*m grateful to him. I*m grateful as Hell to him. Good night, Gene.. .Suddenly I miss Mother so . . .

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I OUGHT TO BE IN PICTURES
by Neil Simon
Libby

I was wondering if I could discuss something with you. It’s about sex. Don*t get nervous. If you get nervous, I*ll get nervous. I’m in trouble...I mean...I don*t know how to do anything sexual. Most of the people left the party. And Gordon and I were sitting at the bottom of the hill in a car. And he wanted to fool around. He*s not gorgeous but he*s kinda cute. And I felt very grateful to him, and I didn*t want to hurt his feelings. And I wanted to fool around too. Only I didn*t know what was right. I didn*t want to be one of those girls they call ‘‘easy,** but I didn*t want to be impossible either. So I just kissed him and got out of the car and decided not to deal with it. But this Saturday night I think I*m going to have to deal with it. I never talked about these things with my mother because she doesn*t trust men too much. You can guess why. And Grandma.. well, sex isn*t her best subject. I brought it up a couple of times but she pretended she was dead. I know how sex works. I don*t have any mechanical problems. I*ve seen five X-rated movies. I could pass a test on it. I just don*t know what to expect—emotionally. And I need to discuss it and you*re my father. And what you think means a lot to me. If it*s a major trauma for you, I understand. I mean, I could always take a couple of glasses of wine and just plunge in. I’ve got to have my first time sometime. If it*s not Gordon, I could always use the information. Should I ask you some questions? Well . . . Emotionally, is it different for the man than it is for the girl? It is? How old were you the first time? FIFTEEN? Who was the girl? Okay, nevermind. So, what was it like with Mom? ... That*s a very personal question, isn*t it? Did you do it with her before or after you were married? She said after. I knew she lied. She just couldn*t talk to me about those things. That*s why I*m talking to you. I wanted to know how she felt. If she was scared or excited. Was it fun? Was it painful? I didn*t think it was an unreasonable question. I mean, if she could teach me how to walk, why couldn*t she teach me how to love? So what was she like? Making love. Because she was so angry when you left. So bitter. 1 don*t think she ever slept with another man after you were gone. It*s like when you left, you took her with you. That*s why I was so angry with you. It was bad enough you were gone, but you could have left my mother there for me. She used to hug me so hard sometimes. Like she was trying to squeeze all the love out of me that she wasn*t getting anywhere else. So instead of growing up to be me, I grew up to be a substitute— I know Grandma*s dead. I know she probably can*t hear me. But I speak to her everyday anyway because I*m not so sure anyone else is listening. If I have to go for an interview, my heart pounds so much you can see it coming through my blouse. . If you want the God*s honest truth, I don*t even want to be an actress. I don*t know the first thing about acting. I don*t know what I want to be. . . (Beginning to break down.) I just wanted to come out here and see you. I just wanted to know what you were like. I wanted to know why I was so frightened every time a boy wanted to reach out and touch me . . . I just wanted somebody in the family to hold me because it was me, Libby, and not somebody who wasn*t there. (Crying) I love Mom so much. I didn