Escape Velocity

by Charles Portis

  MAE. I’m shaking broken glass from my hair. I’ve just escaped from a terrible accident on the Interstate.

  DELRAY. What!

  MAE. Jerry was driving too fast in the rain and the van skidded into a bridge railing. My heart is still pounding. I saw my life pass before my eyes.

  DELRAY. Are you hurt? Shouldn’t you—

  MAE. No, I’m all right. The ambulance let me out here and is taking Jerry on to the hospital. I told him over and over again he was driving too fast.

  DELRAY. Then—there’s no van! No Avalon van!

  MAE. Another one is on the way, don’t worry. I’ve already called Mom. She was really steamed too. Mom will make Jerry wish he had died on that bridge.

  DELRAY. No van! More delays!

  MAE. A short delay, that’s all. Let’s get on with it. (Takes pencil and begins to check items on clipboard) All four of these pickups are ambulatory, I take it.

  DELRAY. More or less.

  MAE. Good. Any facial hair on these people?

  DELRAY. Some.

  MAE. Any fleshy growths?

  DELRAY. Growths. No, I don’t think so.

  MAE. Can dress and feed and relieve themselves without assistance?

  DELRAY. Yes.

  MAE. Any incontinence?

  DELRAY. I have no idea.

  MAE. How about blockages then? Any big blockages?

  DELRAY. Again, I don’t know.

  MAE. Any morbid obesity?

  DELRAY. No.

  MAE. No bad bloating? No big big tummies?

  DELRAY. No.

  MAE. Impaired speech?

  DELRAY. Not at all. Far from it.

  MAE. Any purulent discharge from their ears?

  DELRAY. Any what?

  MAE. Drainage. From their ears.

  DELRAY. I know nothing about their ears.

  MAE. Nothing?

  DELRAY. Next to nothing.

  MAE. Any hallucinations, visual or auditory?

  DELRAY. Not that I know of.

  MAE. Frequent falls? Frequent fractured femurs?

  DELRAY. No broken bones since I’ve been here.

  MAE. Any prosthetic devices?

  DELRAY. Just the usual ones, I believe. The odd pin or screw in the hip. One glass eye, royal blue. Mr. Niblis.

  MAE. Any signs of senile dementia, or any signs or suggestions or symptoms of onset of senile dementia?

  DELRAY. No, I wouldn’t go that far.

  MAE. Sudden fits of weeping?

  DELRAY. No.

  MAE. Confused? Addled?

  DELRAY. I wouldn’t quite say that, no.

  MAE. Mood?

  DELRAY. Despair.

  MAE. Any whimpering?

  DELRAY. Let’s say fretting.

  MAE. Mom won’t tolerate whimpering.

  DELRAY. Well, they are, naturally, apprehensive.

  MAE. But just the usual feelings of distress and terror?

  DELAY. Yes.

  MAE. Heaving long sighs?

  DELRAY. Sometimes.

  MAE. But not given to throwing fits?

  DELRAY. No.

  MAE. No restraint straps or injections indicated?

  DELRAY. No. But did I hear you say “four”? Actually there are only three of them.

  MAE. Well, let’s just see what we have here on the manifest. (Reads) “Delray’s New Moon, formerly the Sunnyside Hotel. One female, three males. Vetch, Ramp, Niblis, Mingo.” I make that four.

  DELRAY. Yes, but you can scratch Mr. Ramp off your manifest. He’s been gone for some time now.

  MAE. You refuse to produce Ramp?

  DELRAY. I am unable to produce Ramp. He’s gone, I tell you.

  MAE. Gone where? Expired? Wandered away? What?

  DELRAY. I don’t know. He just left suddenly. It must be two months ago now.

  MAE. To another care unit? He’s been snatched out from under us? Not by Sinking Embers! Those people are little better than gangsters! And they’re going to find themselves in some very hot water if they keep making these false and defamatory statements about Dad! But they’ll never crush his spirit! Never! Dad thrives on odium!

  DELRAY. I can tell you nothing more about Mr. Ramp.

  MAE. Then you refuse to surrender Ramp.

  DELRAY. I would gladly surrender Ramp if I could. I tell you I don’t know where he is.

  MAE. Ramp at large. Yipes. Now I’ll have to run a tracer on him. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork. (Looks at old people across the room) But look, there are four. One old female and three old males.

  DELRAY. Yes, but the old fellow with the white stick is not one of the Avalon party.

  MAE. Well, I can’t just “scratch Ramp off,” as you put it. It’s not that simple. I’ll need some hard documentation to account for him. Mom is not going to like this one bit.

  DELRAY. You keep saying “Mom.”

  MAE. My Mom, yes. Ruth Buttress. The Matron of Avalon.

  DELRAY. But I thought you were Ruth Buttress.

  MAE. (Laughing) No, no, no. I am Mae Buttress, the daughter of Ruth Buttress. Mom doesn’t do pickups. What an idea! And certainly not on the Special Value Package. I am Mae Buttress, from Receiving and Interrogation.

  DELRAY. I beg your pardon then.

  MAE. No, it’s quite all right. A common mistake. We do look alike, you know. We’re both full-figured women and we dress alike too. Mom just loves it when people take us for sisters. When we’re out on the town together in our matching orange pantsuits. We’ve always been great pals.

  DELRAY. (Goes to bar, takes three manila envelopes from shelf beneath) Here we are. Everything in order. Releases, Medicare forms, biography sheets. All complete, I believe.

  MAE. (Looks over papers) Signed and notarized? Check. SS numbers? Check. Okay. Good enough, as far as they go. Still no Ramp, I see. Ramp at bay. But not for long. Bio sheets? Check. Dad likes to look these over first thing. He likes to have a little one-on-one chat with each new guest. About their allergies, you know, and their medication and their unencumbered assets. He likes to point out the great advantages of giving him power of attorney and of having all their checks deposited directly to the Avalon account. His little power of attorney pow-wows, he calls them. You know Dad and his gentle humor.

  DELRAY. No, I don’t even know who Dad is.

  MAE. Why, Dr. Lloyd Mole, of course! I thought you knew! There’s no secret about that. The paternity has never been seriously questioned! I am the love child of Dr. Lloyd Mole and Ruth Buttress, his longtime associate!

  DELRAY. I had no idea.

  MAE. Oh, it was the talk of the medical community at one time—their tempestuous love story. So young they were then, and so dedicated to the healing arts. Thrown together night after night, working long hours, fighting against their desires in the night lab, with the sacrificial white rats gibbering away in their cages and twitching their whiskers.

  DELRAY. That’s an interesting story.

  MAE. It’s a modern Cinderella story. Mom was Keeper of the Rats at that time, and let me tell you something, she never pampered her rats either, the way some of those silly girls did. Her rats got just what was coming to them. Mom was all business, even then. The lab girls laughed at her and made jokes behind her back. They thought they were so cute in their little white outfits, the skinny little twits!

  DELRAY. A wonderful story.

  MAE. Wait, you haven’t heard the best part. When Dad came in as lab chief, all the girls of course fell in love with him. He was a short young man, round and dark, Mole by name, and somewhat Moleish in appearance, with his tiny close-set eyes, and a kind of burrowing sleekness about his head and shoulders. He was quiet, oh so quiet, but everyone could see how brilliant he was. They knew he was going places. He was just seething with hidden fires and bold new marketing concepts. He was a catch. Now, out of all those lab cuties, who do you think it was that captured Dad’s heart? It was Ruth Buttress, the drudge, the frump, he chose, over all the silly girls! The prince, you see, Lloyd Mole,
had found his Cinderella!

  DELRAY. Well then, there you are. Is there any more paperwork? Are you through with me?

  MAE. Will you please do me the courtesy of allowing me to finish?

  DELRAY. I’m sorry.

  MAE. At that time it was unheard of for a lab chief to carry on with his rodent control officer, but Dad didn’t care. He snaps his fingers at all these silly social conventions. And besides, what else could he do? Mom had fairly bowled him over with her brisk air of command and her firm hand with the rats.

  DELRAY. So. Mose is your father.

  MAE. Mom was everything he had dreamed of. She believes it was her stout calves that first caught his eye.

  DELRAY. So. Mose is your father. And yet you introduce yourself as Buttress.

  MAE. Mole, not Mose. His name is Mole.

  DELRAY. But you prefer the name of Buttress.

  MAE. Oh, he tells me not to call him Dad, but he’s only teasing. That’s just his way. No one seriously questions the paternity.

  DELRAY. He seems to shy away from the honor.

  MAE. But that’s only Dad and his gentle humor. You don’t know him. He has such a playful nature, really, but it doesn’t come through when he’s in the courtroom or on television news. His merry twinkle. Make no mistake, I am his natural daughter, his love child, and I love who I am. I am Mae Buttress, American, fleshy and sensual, a glowing compound of Mole and Buttress, and I glory in it. How do you like that, Mr. New Moon?

  DELRAY. I’ll have to think about it. I don’t know what to make of it.

  MAE. I love my work, too. I live for my work.

  DELRAY. Well then, am I all clear? Anything for me to sign? I will sign anything you have on that clipboard. I know nothing more about Mr. Ramp. You might ask Mrs. Vetch and or Mr. Mingo over there.

  MAE. (Turns to look at them) Surely they don’t expect to take all that stuff with them. They must be dreaming. One bag with a few personal effects—that’s all they’ll need on the Special Value Package.

  DELRAY. Mrs. Vetch would like to take her electric iron. A travel iron. Is that permitted? She’s a nice lady.

  MAE. Not possible, I’m afraid. Small personal treasures like that can only arouse envy, which can only lead to discord. No special pillows either. I see one over there. And that cigarette smoking will stop at once.

  DELRAY. It’s just a small travel iron. She’s a nice lady. Maybe you could bend the rule.

  MAE. Of course she’s a nice lady. Why do you keep harping on that? They’re all nice people. What are you suggesting—that we at Avalon are somehow not very nice? Let me assure you that this Vetch woman will continue to be treated as a lady—as long as we get prompt and cheerful obedience from her. Mom insists on that. (Looking at them again) Where are their balloons and their ID tags? Why aren’t they wearing their Avalon caps?

  DELRAY. The caps, yes. And the balloons. We have them here somewhere. Duvall!

  MAE. And their gifts. Do they have their gifts?

  DELRAY. Now what gifts are those?

  MAE. For Dad. He expects a little gift from each new guest. Didn’t you read our booklet?

  DELRAY. I only dipped into it.

  MAE. Nothing very expensive, you understand—shaving kit or a pocket knife. Just some little token of love for him. Dad is hurt when he doesn’t get a gift. And it must be properly wrapped, and tied up with a ribbon. (Suddenly she staggers, grasps back of chair for support) Oh! Mercy!

  DELRAY. What is it?

  MAE. My head went light there for a moment.

  DELRAY. Delayed shock, perhaps, from your accident.

  MAE. Yes, or a light concussion. If I could have something cold to drink—

  DELRAY. Certainly. Duvall! A Coke over here for Miss Buttress! Pronto!

  DUVALL. Small Coke?

  MAE. Big Coke. Not too much ice.

  DUVALL. Hey, you got it! Coming up!

  Duvall brings Coke. Mae drinks.

  DELRAY. Better now?

  MAE. Yes, thank you.

  DELRAY. You’ll be all right?

  MAE. It’s nothing. A passing dizzy spell.

  DELRAY. Good. That’s great news. I have to run now. There are so many demands on my time. Please give my warm regards to Dr. Moles. He provides a wonderful service.

  MAE. Mole, not Moles. Where do you get Moles?

  DELRAY. Right, Mole, no “s.” I’ve got it down now. I’ll leave you here in the ballroom with my—(Looks about, transported for a moment) How I love my New Moon ballroom! Not very big but it’s coming along nicely, don’t you think? (Then back to business) Yes, well, I’ll leave you here with my executive assistant, Duvall. He will introduce you to your clients. Here, Duvall, I want you to meet Miss Buttress, who has just had a hair-raising escape from a car wreck. She is the Matron of Avalon.

  MAE. No, no, that’s my Mom.

  DELRAY. I thought your mom was Ruth Buttress.

  MAE. So she is. She is Ruth Buttress, and she is the Matron of Avalon, not me. Weren’t you listening? I don’t know how I can make it any plainer. I am Mae Buttress, the love child of Dr. Lloyd Mole and his longtime associate, Ruth Buttress. I am in Receiving and Interrogation. It’s my Mom, Ruth Buttress, R.N., who is the Matron of Avalon.

  DELRAY. Right, I think I’ve got it now. (Then to Duvall) Miss Buttress is here to pick up Mrs. Vetch and the others. She hasn’t met them yet. Will you do the honors?

  DUVALL. Be glad to. My pleasure.

  DELRAY. And see about their caps and their balloons.

  MAE. And their shipping tags.

  DUVALL. Hey, you got it. Right this way, Miss Buttress.

  Delray exits upstairs.

  MAE. (Miffed, as she watches him go) I like that! Demands on his time! Who does he think he is anyway? I mean, really, trifling about with our names in that disrespectful way! Is he quite right in the head? What was all that stuff about his ballroom?

  DUVALL. Sorry, but that’s confidential material. I can’t discuss Delray’s dream with outsiders.

  MAE. Then don’t discuss it! I don’t give a hoot about his dream! Let’s get on with this!

  They set off across the room. Mae lightly and accidentally brushes against Duvall. He stops, goes rigid, looks off into space.

  DUVALL. Don’t do that again.

  MAE. What? Do what?

  DUVALL. Bump up against me like that. Don’t do it again. I don’t like being jostled.

  MAE. I didn’t jostle you! A slight brush, that’s all! Why on earth would I want to jostle you? (Shakes more glass out of her hair) What a day!

  They resume their advance on the old people. Before Duvall can make the introductions, Mae goes wobbly again. She drops her Coke and clipboard and collapses into his arms. He is unable to support her weight and lets her down with a thump in front of the old people. She lies there unconscious, face up.

  PALFREY. What happened?

  DUVALL. I don’t know. She just passed out. Delray said she was in a car wreck out on the highway.

  MRS. VETCH. A wreck on the highway! Oh, I hope it wasn’t a school bus with some little children hurt!

  MR. PALFREY. “I heard the wreck on the highway.” Roy Acuff used to sing that song a lot. Nothing but blood and glass and brains ever where you looked.

  FERN. Who is she?

  MR. PALFREY. Who is that old fat gal anyway?

  MR. MINGO. (Poking her arm with his finger) No so much fat as gelatinous. Look how her flesh gleams and trembles.

  MRS. VETCH. (Poking Mae lightly with the toe of her shoe) Really? I wonder what she’s been feeding on?

  MR. MINGO. Gorging on, I would say.

  MR. NIBLIS. Who is it? Is it that man that was on the bed?

  MRS. VETCH. Are you blind? That’s not a man!

  MR. MINGO. An easy enough distinction to make, I would think. We don’t need a magnifying glass for her, do we?

  MR. NIBLIS. What?

  MR. MINGO. Some people need to get their eyes examined.

  MR. NIBLIS. Who is Min
go talking to now?

  MR. MINGO. To whom it may concern. I name no names.

  LENORE. But who is she? That’s what we want to know.

  MR. MINGO. It’s that woman from Avalon. Ruth Buttress.

  MRS. VETCH. (Bending over to take a closer look) Ruth Buttress! But she looks so much older on television.

  FERN. Ruth Buttress. Well, my goodness.

  MR. MINGO. (Touching her again with his finger) So, we meet at Phillippi, Ruth, and you flat on your back. If I could lift my icy feet, I would plant one on your chest.

  MR. NIBLIS. Who? Who did he say it was?

  MRS. VETCH. Ruth Buttress! The Matron of Avalon!

  MR. NIBLIS. (Poking her with his umbrella) You’d think they would send somebody in better health to pick us up.

  MR. MINGO. Instead of a stretcher case.

  MRS. VETCH. She’s worse off than we are.

  Mr. Mingo, still seated, begins to drum his feet feebly up and down in clip-clop fashion.

  MRS. VETCH. What are you doing? Will you please stop that? You’re getting on everybody’s nerves!

  MR. MINGO. Bear with me…little victory dance…a bit more…not much longer now…another step or two…this ballroom dancing will take it out of you…(Steps falter and stop) There. I’m done.

  MR. PALFREY. (To Duvall) Well, don’t just stand there. Do something, Booger. Prop up her feet so the blood can drain back into her head.

  Duvall, grudgingly, drops to his knees and begins resuscitation work on Mae.

  MR. MINGO. Don’t let her choke. Make sure her tongue is clear. Just reach in there with your finger and flip it clear.

  FERN. Check her pulse. Pat her skin. I don’t like her color. See if her skin is clammy. Her color is not good at all.

  LENORE. I wonder if her color ever was real good.

  MR. PALFREY. Take off her glasses. Get her arms and legs straightened out. Undo her bow tie. Unbutton her. Unlace her. Unlace Ruth Buttress.

  DUVALL. (Stops work) What do you mean? What are you talking about? Is she laced up in some way?

  MR. PALFREY. I don’t know. Sometimes they are. Underneath, you know. Or buckled up.

  DUVALL. (Resumes works with distaste. Places hands on her warily) I don’t like any part of this.