by Kat Georges
INTERLUDE
Video
Los Angeles, 1999
HIP TV REPORTER IN STUDIO: Is Jack the Rapper just a hoax? Is he dead? Nobody knows. Reporter Colin Wilson is in LA, where he says the fans are growing restless—Colin, tell us—what’s the latest.
TV on.
REPORTER COLIN WILSON: It’s four o’clock here in LA. Officially the show is on. But after waiting for so long, for the star to appear, many fans fear the Rapper is— The rumor most believe is that Jack rests in peace.
VIDEO GIRL GROUPIE: He can’t be dead! He can’t be dead! You know what I paid for these tickets? Cries.
VIDEO ROCK DUDE: I’m wasted.
VIDEO ROCK CHICK: Wow.
VIDEO GOTH GIRL: He’s dead? That’s cool.
VIDEO GOTH GUY: Right on. Me too. Drops dead.
FOUR SUITS ON CELL PHONES: I’m here. Where are you?
FRAT BOY: Total rip off.
ROCK DUDE: Dude, like I’m so wasted.
SILLY GIRL: Jack who?
COLIN WILSON: As you can see, reactions here, live at the Jack the Rapper show, are mixed. The truth is the story is not over yet. As we wait for the end, the beginning remains.
SCENE VII
Home in St. Louis, Missouri, 1910 Four o’clock
ANNIE DUNNE, alone in room.
ANNIE DUNNE: Sings. It was only a violet I plucked from my mother’s grave as a boy . . . Hums.
LIGHTS fade up slowly. ANNIE DUNNE holds a faded letter in her hands.
The past is like a song to me, a melody with words. The past cannot be undone, even if it is unknown. Yet . . . if the past remains unknown, the present is affected. For the present is the past. And the song must be remembered.
Enter ELIOT.
ELIOT: Ah, my dear Annie Dunne, love of my life. The world’s greatest nannie, a marvelous cook! I shall miss you terrificly when I move across the sea.
ANNIE DUNNE: Tom, dear. . . . umm . . . we need to talk. Before you go away forever. There’s something you need to know.
ELIOT: No time like the present. Sits. Let’s talk.
ANNIE DUNNE: You’ve known me all your life. I was there from the beginning, was I not?
ELIOT: Of course! And I shall never forget all you have done for me. Raising me even more so than Mother. What is this about?
ANNIE DUNNE: But do you really know who I am?
ELIOT: A true living saint!
ANNIE DUNNE: I am . . . A. Crook.
ELIOT: Ha! With your face? The face of an angel . . . .
Silence.
ANNIE DUNNE: You’re a crook too. Half a Crook.
ELIOT: I don’t know what you mean.
ANNIE DUNNE: How should I begin? The end. Yes. In my beginning is my end. At least to you it is. Pause. Read this. Hands letter to TOM.
ELIOT: Reads. “Since Friday I felt I was going to be like mother, and the best thing for me was to die.” What does this mean?
ANNIE DUNNE: It was written by a dear friend of mine. A man—Eddy. Well, he used to be Eddy. He used to be a lot of things. Your . . .
ELIOT: Is he dead?
ANNIE DUNNE: I thought he was. I’ve wasted my life for twenty-two years.
ELIOT: Hey, now. That’s how long you’ve been taking care of me! I wouldn’t call that a waste.
ANNIE DUNNE: Today I received a letter from him. And I know now what he meant me to tell you. You see . . . the man who wrote that letter was a duke. And . . .
ELIOT: Oh, do tell.
ANNIE DUNNE: How should I begin? We were . . . he was . . . married, to me. Pause. Me and Eddy. The Duke and his wife. We had one rule between us—never ask why. We soared, me and Eddy. We soared. We were spirits. You don’t know. You do not know. . . . Our enemies hated us. We were married in secret. We had other secrets. To keep them—we shared them—in bits and pieces. We’d chop up our secrets and spread them around. We considered it art. We used people like paint. It was fun for a while. Then horrid.
Pause.
ANNIE DUNNE: I wasn’t Ann Dunne, then. I was A Crook. Anne Elizabeth Crook, to the Duke. We were married in secret. We had a son. If our enemies found out about him, they would —. . . We used our art to protect him. We said our son was a daughter. No one knew.
But something went wrong. Someone found out—or suspected—and so we said our daughter was dead. . . . And even that was not enough.
Again there was doubt. Suspicions aroused. Our enemies had to have proof. I had a doctor remove a bone. I sent it to them . . . without telling Eddy. And then I ran away with the dead daughter. But the daughter was not dead. And the daughter was not a daughter. See—that bone I sent our enemies was removed from Eddy’s son. And his son was not dead. And the doctor was . . . I— . . .
ELIOT: Coldly. A rib bone?
ANNIE DUNNE: Yes.
ELIOT: You see this? Pulls up shirt. Reveals metal truss around his ribcage. A truss. You know what it does? It smells. It stinks. It rusts. It hurts. And I have to wear it. Or else—Curse it. Double hernia . . . that’s what mother told everyone. That’s what she told me.
ANNIE DUNNE: No, I didn’t.
ELIOT: No, mother said—
ANNIE DUNNE: I’m your—. . .
Long pause.
ELIOT: You’re crazy.
ANNIE DUNNE: This is the letter I received today. Hands letter to ELIOT.
ELIOT: Reads. “Dear Ann—Eddy is waiting—Is T.S. ready? Yours Truly, Eddy. P.S. Hurry up, please. It’s time.”
ANNIE DUNNE: King Edward VII died today. May 6, 1910. It’s be in the paper tomorrow.
ELIOT: How do you know?
ANNIE DUNNE: I know. You see—Eddy planned this. To get even with someone who . . . turned art into horror. Pause. You are the heir to Edward VII. The problem is . . .
ELIOT: You said I was a daughter.
ANNIE DUNNE: Everyone thinks you are dead.
ELIOT: Except you.
ANNIE DUNNE: Ann Crook was once my name, now it is not. Mary Jane was a crook and Ann Crook was not. Mary Jane’s alias is Kelly to some. Ann Crook’s alias is Annie Dunne. Ann Crook was Eddy’s wife. Mary Jane wasn’t.
ELIOT: What about Eddy.
ANNIE DUNNE: They think he’s dead, too. He thought it would be . . . the best thing for you. Only two people out there know who you are. If one of them finds you, he’ll kill you for sure. The other one owes his life to Eddy.
ELIOT: What’s his name?
ANNIE DUNNE: Used to be Montague John . . . uh—Druitt. Now it’s Leon Beron.
ELIOT: Druitt, Druitt . . . I’ve heard that name. Wait—wasn’t he Jack the Ripper?
ANNIE DUNNE: That’s was you’re supposed to think.
ELIOT: You know who the Ripper really is?
ANNIE DUNNE: I almost married him. See, he looked just like Eddy. And sometimes he was—like me and my sister. We used to switch roles. If I’d married John you’d have been the Ripper’s son. But . . . what am I saying? Jack wasn’t John.
ELIOT: Was Eddy?
ANNIE DUNNE: Tom! How dare you! Of course, I can’t expect you to know. The lie lingers on. Like a song. Like a song. Everyone knows the melody, few know the words. The question is—do you dare—disturb the universe?
ELIOT: If I believe you, my whole life has become a lie . . . in a minute.
ANNIE DUNNE: In a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
ELIOT: Do I dare?
ANNIE DUNNE: Hands knife to ELIOT. This is yours.
ELIOT: What is this?
ANNIE DUNNE: It’s not just any knife. It belongs to Stephen White. Eddy sent it. With best regards. Go see Druitt. Or rather—see Leon Beron. He lives in Whitechapel. Beron is his name nowadays. Tell him Eddy sent you. He’ll know what that means. If he refuses to say anything— . . . tell him to remember: You have the key. The key’s memory.
ELIOT: Memory! How can you have memory when your past has been erased?
ANNIE DUNNE: Everything in your past was to prepare you
for this.
LIGHTS fade to BLACKOUT.
END OF SCENE VII
SCENE VIII
Backstage, Near the Dressing Womb
Los Angeles, 1999
Four o’clock
ANNIE: Inside womb with JACK. The soul of a father lives in his son.
VOICE: Hurry up, please. It’s time.
JACK: I’m the son me mum. Laughs.
ANNIE: I’m your mum. Do me in.
JACK: Do I dare?
ANNIE: Oh, why not? You’ve done it before.
JACK: I can’t talk about that.
BLACKOUT.
LIGHTS up on WENDY backstage. Enter STEPHEN WHITE.
STEPHEN WHITE: Where is he?
WENDY: Goddamnit. You’re supposed to be hiding.
STEPHEN WHITE: I’m supposed to be dead.
EZRA’S VOICE: From inside STEPHEN WHITE’s head. Nothing’s dead—
OTTOLINE’S VOICE: From inside WENDY’s head. Ezra—is that you? Where’s Eliot?
LIGHTS up on dressing womb and backstage.
VIVIENNE’S VOICE: From inside ANNIE’S head. Coming.
OTTOLINE’S VOICE: From inside WENDY’S head. Whose son is he now?
STEPHEN WHITE: Get out of my head. Get out!
WENDY: Umm . . . Stephen . . . —my water just broke.
STEPHEN’S VOICE: From inside STEPHEN WHITE’S head. Holy cow.
ANNIE: (To JACK.) Here’s a knife. Take it.
JACK: That’s a pen.
ANNIE: Oops. I took it from him—
JACK: Who?
ANNIE: Your father.
WENDY: The whole thing’s a disaster. Pushes. Look, Stephen— Pushes—do me a favor, all right?— Go out there and tell everyone the show’s over—Pushes. Jack’s in here. Christ! This is the end of the world.
JACK: You fink! Annie!
ANNIE: You have the key. Do it. Me first. I’m your mum.
JACK: Who’s my dad?
ANNIE: T. S. Eliot.
JACK: She thinks it’s him.
ANNIE: I switched the sperm.
STEPHEN WHITE: Here comes papa! Ha-ha! Ha-ha!
WENDY: Stephen—don’t touch me. Stephen—go away!
ANNIE: Do me in!
JACK: I have to use words—
ANNIE: Hurry up, please!
WENDY: It’s time!
JACK: This is the way the world ends. Draws a T on ANNIE’s forehead. This is the way the world ends. Draws an S on ANNIE’s forehead.
STEPHEN WHITE: This is the way the world ends. Snaps JACK from womb. Loud bang. Umbilical cord comes out with nothing attached.
JACK: Not with a bang . . .
Fade LIGHTS.
ANNIE, WENDY, STEPHEN WHITE slowly fall to ground.
JACK picks up paper rose.
JACK: . . . but a whimper . . .
THE END
About the Author
KAT GEORGES IS A POET, playwright, performer, and graphic designer. She is the author of fifteen plays, including Paglia in Persona: A Deconstruction of Camille Paglia, Arousal: An Examination of Presidential Legacy, and 976-POWER: A Corporate Primal Scream. Her poetry books include Our Lady of the Hunger, Punk Rock Journal, and Slow Dance at 120 Beats per Minute. Her poetry and prose work has appeared in The San Francisco Chronicle, The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry, and numerous regional and international journals and magazines.
In 1982, she co-founded and edited the Orange County, California punk rock magazine The Eye and in 1991 cofounded and edited the San Francisco poetry journal The Fold. Since 1988, she has edited numerous anthologies including The Verdict Is In, a poetic response to the 1992 Los Angeles riots (Manic D Press, San Francisco, 1993), Along the Fault, a collection of poems from the fledgling Los Angeles spoken word movement (Resident Alien Press, Los Angeles, 1990), and A Gathering of the Tribes: Issue 13 (A Gathering of the Tribes, New York, 2012).
Born in Lynwood, California, raised in Long Beach and Orange County, she relocated to San Francisco in 1990, where, in 1992 she founded Marilyn Monroe Memorial Theater, a space dedicated to presenting “demolished texts, deconstructed classics, and new works.” From 1992 through 2000, she and co-director Peter Carlaftes lived in, wrote, directed, and produced twenty-five original plays, and presented numerous poetry and spoken word events, sketch comedy nights, underground film events, and Dada performance gatherings. In New York since 2003, she has directed numerous Off-Broadway plays, produced more than five-hundred poetry and performance events, and performed her poetry widely. She has also performed internationally in museums, theaters, planetariums, and on the streets of London, Paris, Brussels, Rome, Berlin, Athens, and Bastia.
Currently, Georges is co-director and artistic director of the publishing company she and Carlaftes founded in 1993, Three Rooms Press: a fiercely independent press inspired by Dada, punk, and passion. She is co-editor of the annual Maintenant: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art, and co-edited three editions of the mystery anthology series Have a NYC. She lives in New York City.
Recent and Forthcoming Books from Three Rooms Press
FICTION
Meagan Brothers
Weird Girl and What’s His Name
Ron Dakron
Hello Devilfish!
Michael T. Fournier
Hidden Wheel
Swing State
Janet Hamill
Tales from the Eternal Café
William Least Heat-Moon
Celestial Mechanics
Aimee Herman
Everything Grows
Eamon Loingsigh
Light of the Diddicoy
Exile on Bridge Street
John Marshall
The Greenfather
Aram Saroyan
Still Night in L.A.
Richard Vetere
The Writers Afterlife
Champagne and Cocaine
Julia Watts
Quiver
SHORT STORY ANTHOLOGIES
Dark City Lights: New York Stories
edited by Lawrence Block
First-Person Singularities: Stories
by Robert Silverberg
with an introduction by John Scalzi
Have a NYC I, II & III: New York Short Stories;
edited by Peter Carlaftes & Kat Georges
Crime + Music: The Sounds of Noir
edited by Jim Fusilli
Songs of My Selfie: An Anthology of Millennial Stories
edited by Constance Renfrow
The Obama Inheritance: 15 Stories of Conspiracy Noir
edited by Gary Phillips
This Way to the End Times: Classic and New Stories of the Apocalypse
edited by Robert Silverberg
MEMOIR & BIOGRAPHY
Nassrine Azimi and Michel Wasserman
Last Boat to Yokohama: The Life and Legacy of Beate Sirota Gordon
William S. Burroughs & Allen Ginsberg
Don’t Hide the Madness: William S. Burroughs in Conversation with Allen Ginsberg
edited by Steven Taylor
James Carr
BAD: The Autobiography of James Carr
Richard Katrovas
Raising Girls in Bohemia: Meditations of an American Father; A Memoir in Essays
Judith Malina
Full Moon Stages: Personal Notes from 50 Years of The Living Theatre
Phil Marcade
Punk Avenue: Inside the New York City Underground, 1972-1982
Stephen Spotte
My Watery Self: Memoirs of a Marine Scientist
PHOTOGRAPHY-MEMOIR
Mike Watt
On & Off Bass
MIXED MEDIA
John S. Paul
Sign Language: A Painter’s Notebook
(photography, poetry and prose)
FILM & PLAYS
Israel Horovitz
My Old Lady: Complete Stage Play and Screenplay with an Essay on Adaptation
Peter Carlaftes
Triumph For Rent (3 Plays)
Teatrophy (3 More Plays)
Kat Georges
Three Somebodies: Plays about Notorious Dissidents
DADA
Maintenant: A Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing & Art
(Annual, since 2008)
TRANSLATIONS
Thomas Bernhard
On Earth and in Hell
(poems of Thomas Bernhard with English translations by Peter Waugh)
Patrizia Gattaceca
Isula d’Anima / Soul Island
(poems by the author in Corsican with English translations)
César Vallejo | Gerard Malanga
Malanga Chasing Vallejo
(selected poems of César Vallejo with English translations and additional notes by Gerard Malanga)
George Wallace
EOS: Abductor of Men
(selected poems in Greek & English)
POETRY COLLECTIONS
Hala Alyan
Atrium
Peter Carlaftes
DrunkYard Dog
I Fold with the Hand I Was Dealt
Thomas Fucaloro
It Starts from the Belly and Blooms
Inheriting Craziness is Like a Soft Halo of Light
Kat Georges
Our Lady of the Hunger
Robert Gibbons
Close to the Tree
Israel Horovitz
Heaven and Other Poems
David Lawton
Sharp Blue Stream
Jane LeCroy
Signature Play
Philip Meersman
This is Belgian Chocolate
Jane Ormerod
Recreational Vehicles on Fire
Welcome to the Museum of Cattle
Lisa Panepinto
On This Borrowed Bike
George Wallace
Poppin’ Johnny
HUMOR
Peter Carlaftes
A Year on Facebook
Three Rooms Press | New York, NY | Current Catalog: www.threeroomspress.com
Three Rooms Press books are distributed by PGW/Ingram: www.pgw.com