by David Ives
GUS: Help me out here. I think I missed a chapter.
LAURA: Gus, maybe we shouldn’t move.
GUS: Shouldn’t move? Wait a minute, Laura. Pump the brake slowly, we’re sliding.
LAURA: We’ve been in this place a long time. We like this place.
GUS: We’re moving. Okay? No. We have moved.
LAURA: Why should we move?
GUS: First of all we haven’t been in this place all that long.
LAURA: We’ve been here long enough.
GUS: And it’s always been too small. What about when little feet are pattering all around us? We’ll need a lot more room then, whenever that happens, which as far as I understand we both hope will be relatively soon. Or am I right?
LAURA: But this place—
GUS: Yes. This place is us. This place will always be us and all the good times “us” have had here. We’ve also just spent a huge amount of time and trouble finding a new place that we like and can afford, and … I don’t think you have reality jitters. You have moving panic. You know. That weird disjointed melancholy that settles over you right before you leave a place where you’ve been happy? But you can be happy in another place!
LAURA: Have you really been happy here?
GUS: Yes! I’ve been very happy here.
LAURA: Are you happy now?
GUS: Well no, not right now, right now I’m talking rather loudly trying to remind you that this is us, here. Remember? Us?
LAURA: And what is that?
GUS: You are going off your head, woman. And you’re very quickly sending me off of mine.
LAURA: The night my father died … And this was after they gave up hope on him and he knew he didn’t have much time … The night before he died he got into this … panic, he started thrashing around in the bed and telling my mother to call the doctor. And all this time my mother sat there by the bed holding his hand and saying, “The doctor can’t help you, Bill. The doctor can’t help you anymore.”
GUS: Laura, what can I do for you?
LAURA: Nothing.
GUS: Talk to me. What can I do?
LAURA: My father died this miserable ugly death screaming for a doctor and then vanished without a trace.
GUS: He didn’t vanish, he …
LAURA: My mother vanished. You and I will vanish too, along with a billion other people. Without a ripple.
GUS: Where did this cheery mood come from, anyway?
LAURA: Some days it’s like my life is made of this incredibly thin white tissue, it’s like a wall of very fine gauze. And the events from somebody’s life are being projected on that fabric—and it’s my life. Woman brushing her teeth. Woman sitting at her desk. And this membrane is so thin, it’s like I could reach out and just push my finger right through it.
GUS: I don’t know what to tell you.
LAURA: And what would I see if I could push through that fabric? What would I see on the other side?
GUS: I don’t know. Probably New Jersey.
LAURA: Then I think—no. This is reality.
GUS: You know maybe you do need 2-D glasses. You’re halfway there already. In your case, maybe 1-D glasses—
LAURA: Jesus Christ, Gus!
GUS: I’m sorry, I just… I’m trying to deal here. Laura, this is a mood, it’s … Nothing is different! We’re the same people we were yesterday. You’re just…
LAURA: All my life—I guess I’ve just realized this too—all my life I’ve somehow taken it for granted that everything would be explained someday. Like I’d get to the last chapter and I’d find out who the killer was, a messenger would arrive and explain why this happened to me when I was twelve, or whatever happened to some … book I lost when I was fifteen, and what this all meant. But that’s never going to happen. You don’t find these things out. You never find anything out.
GUS: Yes. Life is a mystery. That’s very profound.
LAURA: Fuck you.
GUS: Fuck me? First go to hell, now fuck you. All in one night. Okay.
LAURA: Fuck you.
GUS: Laura, what the hell am I supposed to tell you? That everything will be explained someday? An angel’s going to come down and hand you the winning envelope with the secret of life in it? I don’t think that’s going to happen. Or—okay—it won’t be explained. I agree with you. We don’t know anything about anything. We’re idiots in a dark and mysterious universe. Does that make you feel better? Now what do you say we head over to Tony and Bea’s and we won’t talk about restaurants or movies. We’ll talk about whatever you want. We’ll talk philosophy.
LAURA: This is not…
GUS: Okay.
LAURA: This is not philosophy, Gus. This is not a mood.
GUS: Okay.
LAURA: This is my life.
GUS: Yes.
LAURA: This is my life.
GUS: And what can I do for you, to make your life better?
LAURA: I just keep hearing my mother say that. “The doctor can’t help you, Bill. The doctor can’t help you anymore.”
GUS: Well. I will not be brought down. I refuse to be brought down. I was feeling so … good, I… How can I convince you that everything is good, that your life is good, that your life isn’t any worse or different than it was yesterday?
LAURA: Why don’t you go and I’ll wait for these people.
GUS: Forget these people! Fuck ’em!
LAURA: I’ll finish packing. You go on.
GUS: Okay. You finish packing.
LAURA: I’m not that hungry anyway.
GUS: Okay.
LAURA: I’m lousy company tonight.
GUS: Well. There’s the CD player needs to be packed. You could tape up these boxes. (He puts on his coat.) I’ll call you before we go anywhere and tell you where we’re going. In case you hear the call of Chow Fun. What’s the matter now?
LAURA: I just thought, you wouldn’t have done this when we first met. Or even a year ago.
GUS: What.
LAURA: You would’ve stayed here and waited with me.
GUS: I didn’t mean to— I just wanted to— Oh, JESUS!
LAURA: And I’m not saying that to accuse you, I just—
GUS: What is that, a form of praise? A term of endearment? “You wouldn’t have done that when we first met”?
LAURA: I’m saying things change. Things were better.
GUS: When?
LAURA: Better days.
GUS: You set me up, Laura.
LAURA: I didn’t set you up.
GUS: You offered to stay and then you accuse me of abandoning you. I think that’s pretty fucking mean.
LAURA: That’s not what I mean.
GUS: Well maybe someday I’ll get an explanation of what you mean. When I reach the last chapter and everything’s explained. When the fucking messenger arrives. (She says nothing.) Okay. I’m going over there. I’ll call you in a while.
LAURA: ’Bye.
GUS: I think— Oh fuck it. We’ll talk later. (He exits left.)
(LAURA sits on the box again and puts her face into her hands for a moment. Then she goes to the CD player against the wall and turns it on. Music comes on, softly. There is a knock at the door left.)
LAURA: Gus—? (LAURA opens the door to JACK, sixty, in a long, shabby coat with snowflakes on the shoulders.) Oh. Hi. Sorry. I thought you were my husband.
JACK: I was just wondering if I could look at your apartment.
LAURA: Sure. Absolutely. Come on in. (JACK hesitates.) Really. Come in.
(JACK comes in.)
JACK: I’m sorry to bother you.
LAURA: No. No bother. I knew you were coming sometime tonight.
JACK: You knew I was coming … ?
LAURA: The agent told us. I’m Laura. And—I’m sorry—your name is… ?
JACK: Jack.
LAURA: Hello, Jack. (Jack looks around himself in silence for a moment.) Is it snowing out now? Looks like you’ve got snow on your coat. (No response.) Jack … ?
JACK: Yes. It’s sn
owing out. (He keeps looking about at the room.)
LAURA: You know, somehow I thought there were going to be two of you. I mean, I thought they said a husband and wife.
JACK: No. It’s just me.
LAURA: Uh-huh. Well. This is the place. Living room. Obviously. Fireplace. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately. Though some of the shutters still work. Then there’s a bedroom and a small study down the hall, and a kitchen and bathroom off to the left, (JACK is standing in the center of the room, very still, with his eyes closed.) And that’s pretty much it. If you want to take a look.
JACK: God. God.
(LAURA takes this in for a moment.)
LAURA: You know, the rent is pretty steep. I don’t know if they made that clear, (JACK says nothing, remaining perfectly still.) By the way—how did you get into the building? I mean it’s a pretty safe building, usually you have to buzz people in.
JACK: The fireplace doesn’t work?
LAURA: Contrary to the ad. It did once, (JACK says nothing.) But listen, Jack. I do have lots of things to do, we’re right in the middle of packing here, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go soon. My husband’ll be coming back in a second. And we can’t go on meeting like this.
JACK: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
LAURA: Jack, you’re going to have to go now. I don’t want to have to call somebody.
JACK: The fireplace used to work. And all the shutters. (Indicating the wall at right.) This was a doorway into the kitchen, right here. Just a tiny little … You couldn’t open the refrigerator and stand in the kitchen at the same time.
LAURA: So you used to live here, once upon a time.
JACK (indicating the doorway, center): This was a bathroom, through here. With a beautiful bright red door. Very red.
LAURA: Taking a trip down memory lane tonight, huh?
JACK: And this was the whole place. There weren’t any other rooms. This was it. And it seemed enormous. (Pointing to where they’d been.) Couch. Chair. Rug over there, Turkish rug. Table. Books. Books. And the bed, over here. (He goes to far left!) This was where we used to make love. Right on this spot. Right here. Right… here. Nights like this we’d build a fire and close up the shutters. Take our clothes off. Drink wine and talk philosophy all night in bed. The meaning of life. Do you understand? The meaning of life.
LAURA: Yes.
JACK: She found this old record here somebody’d left behind. We’d play it over and over and over again.
LAURA: “Long Ago and Far Away.”
JACK: “Long Ago and Far Away.” There was the whole rest of the universe and this one little place, and the two of us inside it. Warming our hands at each other. Everything led right here, to this room and the two of us. Talking, talking, talking.
LAURA: About the meaning of life.
JACK: It was paradise.
LAURA: And she—? Where is she?
JACK: Paradise …
(Thoughtful now, LAURA doesn’t notice as JACK goes out through the doorway at center—where a bright red door appears, quietly closing shut. The music on the CD player fades out, and we hear an old recording of “Long Ago and Far Away.” The CD player goes into the wall and is replaced by an old phonograph, LAURA notices this and turns as afire blazes up in the fireplace, and the wall at right opens, revealing a tiny kitchen. As LAURA stands there looking at all this, the door left opens and a LANDLADY steps in.)
LANDLADY: What’s going on here? (She goes to the record player and turns it off.) How did you get in here?
LAURA: Well I …
LANDLADY: I didn’t hear the doorbell. Who let you in?
LAURA: Nobody. I was here.
LANDLADY: You were here. And the fire? That started itself?
LAURA: It did, actually.
LANDLADY: Mm-hm. I suppose you’re the one looking for the room.
LAURA: Excuse me?
LANDLADY: Are you here to look at the room? Well?
LAURA: Um. Yes. I’m here to look at the room.
LANDLADY: Well. This is the room. Sorry about the mess. The last tenants left all this behind. (She indicates the boxes.)
LAURA: I don’t understand.…
LANDLADY: The people who lived here before left these things.
LAURA: No, I understand that, but—
LANDLADY: It’s a single-room studio apartment. Bathroom’s through there. You got new plumbing and a new toilet and sink. You can see the kitchen through there. It’s small, but everything works. I pay heat and water, you pay electric, rent is eighty dollars a month payable on the first. If you’re interested, I can give you an application. I suppose you have references?
LAURA: References.…
LANDLADY: Do you have a job? Are you working?
LAURA: I did have a job. I’m not sure I have it anymore.
LANDLADY: So you’re out of work.
LAURA: Well. I don’t really know. (Off her look.) I’m not crazy.
LANDLADY: It’s always the crazy ones who say that. I see a ring there on your finger. This means you’re married?
LAURA: I have been married.
LANDLADY: So where’s your husband?
LAURA: My husband sort of… disappeared.
LANDLADY: Mm. You got any kids, or … ?
LAURA: No. No kids.
LANDLADY: So you’re just looking for yourself.
LAURA: Listen, do you mind if I just sit here for a minute? And think about all this?
LANDLADY: I got some others coming to look, so if you want the room you’d better say so. I can’t promise anything. And I can’t wait forever. (She starts out.)
LAURA: Yes.
LANDLADY: Yes what.
LAURA: I want the room. I’ll take it.
LANDLADY: You’ll take the room. Just like that.
LAURA: Well. I think I could be very happy here. The shutters work, don’t they?
LANDLADY: The shutters work. Everything.
LAURA: I could put a couch here. A chair here. Turkish rug. Bed over here … Who knows. It could be paradise.
LANDLADY: I’m going to need something in advance, if you don’t have a job.
LAURA: I can find a job. Really.
LANDLADY: Well…
LAURA: I’m a very good tenant.
LANDLADY: Why don’t I get an application and we’ll talk about it. And your name is—?
LAURA: My name is Ruth.
LANDLADY: Ruth. (The LANDLADY goes out up left, LAURA looks around at the place.)
LAURA: Yes, I think I could be very happy here.… (She sees her wine glass, still half-full, sitting on the mantel. She picks it up, turns the record player back on, and “Long Ago and Far Away” comes back on. She carries the wine glass into the kitchen, and suddenly the wall closes up behind her. The red door disappears at center, the open doorway reappears, and the fire goes out in the fireplace. The record player is replaced by the CD player as the song fades out and the other music returns. The door left opens and GUS comes in.)
GUS: Laura, look, I’m sorry— (He sees that she’s not there.) Laura … ? (JACK enters from center.) Who’re you? Are you the, to look at the apartment? I’m looking for my wife. Is she back there? Laura … ? (GUS goes out at center, and we hear him offstage.) Laura … ? (JACK stands at the place where the bed had been at far left. After a moment, GUS reenters.) Where is she? Did she go out, or … ?
JACK: Would you take this? (He hands GUS a white envelope.) Give it to somebody?
GUS: What is this … ?
JACK: That’ll explain everything.
GUS: The fuck is going on around here … ?
(JACK has taken a pistol out of his coat. He puts the gun to his heart and fires. He falls, GUS backs off in shock, looking down at the body.)
Jesus. Jesus … Laura?!
(Nothing. He drops down onto the box where LAURA was sitting at the beginning.)
BLACKOUT
FOREPLAY, OR THE ART OF THE FUGUE
This play is for Bennett Cohen
Fore
play, or The Art of the Fugue was first presented at the Manhattan Punch Line Theatre (Steve Kaplan, artistic director) in New York City in February 1991. It was directed by Jason McConnell Buzas; the set design was by Vaughn Patterson; costume design was by Kitty Leech; lighting design was by Pat Dignan. The cast was as follows:
AMY Laura Dean
CHUCK Robert Stanton
ANNIE Alison Martin
CHUCK II Tony Carlin
ALMA Anne O’Sullivan
CHUCK III Brian Howe
A bare stage representing a miniature-golf course. Upstage, a sign that says LILLI-PUTT LANE. (Note: Actual golf balls are not used, though the motions are made of setting them down, putting, retrieving them from holes, etc.) CHUCK and AMY enter, with golf clubs. They are both in their early twenties.
CHUCK: Fore!
AMY: I can’t believe I’m out here.
CHUCK: Amy, you are going to fall in love tonight.
AMY: I am?
CHUCK: With miniature golf.
AMY: Chuck …
CHUCK: I swear. This night will turn you into a miniature-golf-o-maniac. You’re going to like this game so much, you’ll wake up shorter tomorrow.
AMY: Very cute.
CHUCK: Just remember one thing: miniature golf is bigger than you or me.
AMY (setting a “ball” down): You must be some kind of a charmer, to talk me into this.
CHUCK: So take your best shot and just try to resist. Go on.
AMY: Okay …
CHUCK (as she hits the ball): Puck! (As it travels.) Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand— (It misses.) Ouch.
AMY: Ohhhhhhhhhhhh … (This disappointed, fading moan is the sound that AMY will typically make when she misses a shot.)
CHUCK: Too bad. Did you know, by the way, that a race of dwarves once covered the earth? This (the miniature-golf course) is what they left behind.
AMY: Ha, ha.
CHUCK: This was their Stonehenge. Castle. Windmill. Lighthouse.
AMY: Did you just think of this?
CHUCK: You didn’t know that but it’s true.
AMY: Did you just make that up?
CHUCK (motioning for her to proceed): But please.