by Eric Lane
This play is dedicated to Sue Berman and Pete Richter, whose home on Virginia Street afforded me time to contemplate and to write, thus restoring my quickly fading sanity.
ONE
(The sun is about to go down. We hear people in the park, particularly teenagers. ABIGAIL walks onto the porch from her house, wearing exercise clothes, exercise bag over her shoulder. Just as she steps out her front door, a beer bottle thrown into the street breaks noisily. Startled, she jumps back with a quick intake of breath. After a beat, she walks into the street, picks up shards of glass there. A car honks at her.)
ABIGAIL: Sorry. (Another car honks at her, from the other direction, then another.) Sorry, Sorry (Another honk.) HEY! I'm hurrying.
TWO
(The sun has set. Norteno music blasts, in Spanish. ABIGAIL walks toward the porch, carrying her exercise bag, two bags of groceries, a rented movie. She stops to get the mail and, when she opens the mailbox, she drops something. When she bends down to pick it up, she drops something else. She lets everything in her hands fall to the ground. She follows suit. MARTIN enters, walking backwards.)
HENRY: (off) Then fuck you, Marty.
MARTIN: Shut up, you know?
HENRY: (off) It don't matter to me you know. I don't care.
MARTIN: (stopping in front of ABIGAIL's porch) Then why don't you shut the fuck up?
HENRY: (off) Then be pussy whipped. Be pussy whipped. I don't care about that shit.
MARTIN: (Sees ABIGAIL, steps toward her.) Hey, lady, that's your house, right?
ABIGAIL: Is there something you need from me?
MARTIN: Do I need something from you? Like what?
ABIGAIL: (looking toward HENRY, intrigued) Who's that?
MARTIN: Like what could I possibly need from you?
ABIGAIL: Who's that telling you you're pussy whipped?
MARTIN: I been meaning to tell you about this yellow thing you did to your house?
HENRY: (off) Who you talking to?
(ABIGAIL stands up. MARTIN takes several steps toward her.)
ABIGAIL: (distracted by looking at HENRY) It was white four and a half years. I needed a change.
MARTIN: You're all sweaty. You lookin' good, all sweaty like that.
HENRY: (off) Who the hell you talking to, Marty?
MARTIN: People ' cross the street at the pool or whatever, playing basketball or whatever, we got to look at that house.
ABIGAIL: Or you could hang out someplace else. (She walks off the porch, onto the street, referring to HENRY.) What happened to him?
MARTIN: What do you mean?
ABIGAIL: Your friend's in a wheelchair.
MARTIN: He is? I did not realize that
ABIGAIL: What happened?
MARTIN: I don't know.
ABIGAIL: How long's he been in the wheelchair?
MARTIN: Long time. (Beat.) Maybe he got shot or something.
ABIGAIL: (still looking at HENRY, off) Is he Italian?
MARTIN: No, he ain't Italian, what you talking about, Italian?
ABIGAIL: (gathering up her things) I nearly got killed picking up the pieces of your broken beer bottle.
MARTIN: You gotta be pretty stupid, go in the street and pick up the trash.
ABIGAIL: It is not nice to litter. Didn't your mother teach you that?
MARTIN: It is not nice to litter? Are you for real?
JENNIFER: (off overlap) Martin, what is keeping you?
MARTIN: No way he's Italian.
(MARTIN runs off in the direction of JENNIFER ' s voice. HENRY, about twenty, rolls by in a wheelchair. ABIGAIL watches him as he follows MARTIN off.)
THREE
(ABIGAIL sits in the morning sun on her porch, wearing shorts and a brief top, no shoes. Now there are children in the park; we hear them making kid noises. ABIGAIL looks sharply across the street, stands up. After a couple beats, she steps onto the street, waves. She doesn't see HENRY enter. He stops the wheelchair on the sidewalk in front of her house. She backs into him, falls on him.)
ABIGAIL: (getting off him) God Almighty. Sorry.
HENRY: No problem.
ABIGAIL: What's your friend doing over there?
HENRY: He got community service.
ABIGAIL: What'd he do?
HENRY: Why you want to know?
ABIGAIL: He's hanging out across the street from my house. What'd he do?
HENRY: He robbed a store's all. He didn't even have a piece. He pretended. Now he gotta work at the day care center.
ABIGAIL: He robbed a store, now he's working with three-year-olds?
HENRY: He volunteered for it—uh, what's your name?
ABIGAIL: Abigail.
HENRY: (holding out his hand; she takes it) Henry. So Martin wanted the day care and (kidding) those judges are so overworked, you know, that poor judge must not have been thinking straight. I'm sure he did his best with that sentencing.
ABIGAIL: So what are you doing here? You have community service too?
HENRY: Nah, I just like to help him out over here sometime. What can I say? I love children.
ABIGAIL: Did you get shot?
HENRY: What's it look like?
ABIGAIL: Looks like you might have been in a skiing accident.
HENRY: Yeah. That's right. I was in a skiing accident. (Calling.) HEY, MARTY. (Back to ABIGAIL.) Yeah, when I was on the Olympics. It was tragic. I was gonna get the gold medal, you know? But then I had this terrible accident. It was a fucking tragedy.
(MARTIN enters.)
HENRY: (to MARTIN) How's the brats?
MARTIN: They're kids. They can't help it. (To ABIGAIL.) YOU better put on your shoes. People around here's mamas don't teach 'em nothin', broken glass all over the place.
FOUR
(After midnight, porch light on. An occasional car drives by. Noise of shouting, punching—someone is getting beaten up. After several seconds, ABIGAIL steps out onto the porch in her robe.)
ABIGAIL: Shit. (Shouting toward the noise.) I'm going to call the police, so you better get the hell out of here.
(She turns to go back into the house, but stops when she hears sirens. She steps back out onto the porch and watches as the sirens get closer and closer. Then we see the lights of a police car.)
FIVE
(Afternoon. ABIGAIL enters from her house, sees MARTIN crossing the street.)
ABIGAIL: How long's your sentence?
MARTIN: Hundred hours.
ABIGAIL: Nothing tacked on for last night? (Silence.) That was you I saw with those other brave boys, beating up on— (somebody).
MARTIN: You know, you just a bitch with nothing to say. Business is business.
ABIGAIL: My mistake. (Beat.) Poor kid.
MARTIN: What poor kid? Hector ain't no poor kid.
ABIGAIL: I meant you.
MARTIN: Yeah right. Poor pitiful me. I am a piece of work. Huh? Aren't I?
(JENNIFER enters. She is pregnant.)
JENNIFER: (glaring at ABIGAIL) I'm waitin' on you, Marty.
ABIGAIL: I'm Abigail.
JENNIFER: So?
HENRY: (off) MARTY.
(HENRY enters.)
JENNIFER: Would you just crawl off someplace and die, Henry?
HENRY: (entering) You here again? Why don't you lay off this guy?
JENNIFER: And who are you to be telling me to lay off anybody? You are nothing but a fucking cripple.
HENRY: (overlap) You already gone and got yourself pregnant, he already says he's gonna do the right thing, so why don't you make yourself scarce sometime?
JENNIFER: Faggot.
(HENRY lunges at her with his wheelchair. MARTIN stands between them.)
MARTIN: (to JENNIFER) Shut your mouth. (To ABIGAIL.) A man gets a beating sometime. So what? He deserves it, he gets it. He takes it like a man. (Back to JENNIFER.) Stop with him, all right? (Beat, he touches her stomach.) You all right?
(MARTIN puts his arms around JENNIFER, she leans into him.)
MARTIN: What's the matter? Hu
h?
JENNIFER: I'm still bleeding.
MARTIN: (to HENRY) Man, we got to go to the clinic. She's bleeding.
HENRY: Catch you later, bro.
(MARTIN and JENNIFER exit. As they go, JENNIFER swats at HENRY, HENRY moves toward her, but she's out. ABIGAIL moves toward her car.)
HENRY: Where you goin'?
ABIGAIL: To work. You should try it.
HENRY: I work.
ABIGAIL: At what?
HENRY: I'm a speech writer for the president. (She laughs.) What's so funny? I write speeches for the president and what I can do, I can write speeches for any president, for any political party, it don't matter, they're all after me. You know, Hank, write for me, he's just a sucky liberal. Nah, Hank, don't write for him, he's a nazi, write for me, bro. How about you?
ABIGAIL: I'm a trainer.
HENRY: Like with dogs?
ABIGAIL: Like with athletes. (She starts to leave.) What happened to you, Hank? You get shot? (She looks at him for several beats. He says nothing. She leaves.)
HENRY: (calling after her) Hey, I'll catch you later.
SIX
(Night, about eight P.M. MARTIN and JENNIFER sit on ABIGAIL' s porch, HENRY sits in his wheelchair; they're all drinking beer, listening to Ice Cube. ABIGAIL enters, again carrying a lot of things, wearing her exercise clothes.)
HENRY: (seeing her) Hey, you're home.
MARTIN: Mama, you sure look—(fine).
JENNIFER: Shut up. (To ABIGAIL.) You're practically naked out here in the street, why don't you get dressed or something, stop sticking your tits in everybody's face.
ABIGAIL: What was the bleeding? (JENNIFER shrugs.) When are you due, shouldn't you be in the hospital if you're bleeding?
MARTIN: They don't know what it is. Fucking doctors.
JENNIFER: (overlap) We ain't got the money for the hospital and even if we did, I don't want to go to no hospital. I'm havin'the baby at home. (Beat.) It's due October.
HENRY: Halloween. Perfect. I'm sure the little guy's gonna look just like you.
ABIGAIL: (putting her packages down) Did the bleeding stop?
JENNIFER: Yeah, it stopped. Don't worry yourself, all right? You ain't my mother.
MARTIN: (overlap) I'm gonna take care of her, all right?
ABIGAIL: She shouldn't be drinking beer.
JENNIFER: You standing out here with no clothes on, who you telling not to drink beer?
ABIGAIL: (overlap, matter-of-fact) It's not good for your baby. And you're sitting on my porch.
(JENNIFER gets up.)
JENNIFER: No I'm not. (JENNIFER starts to exit.) You comin', Marty? (To ABIGAIL.) Good thing it's nighttime. This house the fucking ugliest color I ever saw.
MARTIN: (to ABIGAIL) What did I tell you? Huh?
(MARTIN and JENNIFER exit, taking Ice Cube with them. ABIGAIL sits down on the porch, looks after them. Now Caribbean dance music can be heard, faintly.)
HENRY: (imitating JENNIFER) You comin', Marty? He's pussy whipped. She tricked him, getting pregnant. Women always wanting to trick us, right?
ABIGAIL: I knew immediately you were an expert on women.
HENRY: Yeah. I'm a psychologist, did I forget to tell you? (She smiles. A beat.) I'd help you with your packages, but, you know, here I am, stuck in this— (wheelchair).
ABIGAIL: God, that smells good. You smell that? Juan next door, he barbeques a couple times a week in the summer. Sometimes I sit out here and try to look so tired and hungry he'll take pity on me and offer me some. He always does beef, you know, and sometimes he does corn too and then his whole family sits on his porch and eats.
HENRY: So I see. But what the hell kind of music is that?
ABIGAIL: (Shrugs.) It's music from Juan's native country, except he's lived next door so long, I can't remember where that is. (Beat.) You have nice eyes, Hank. I've been meaning to tell you that.
HENRY: I'm named after Hank Aaron. Henry Aaron. My old man's favorite ballplayer. (He touches her arm.) I like you callin'me Hank. (Beat.) You got nice eyes too. What color are they anyway?
ABIGAIL: Gray.
HENRY: Yeah, but—. They change, right?
ABIGAIL: So I've been told.
HENRY: (referring to her packages) You got anything you need to put in the refrigerator?
ABIGAIL: What? (Realizes he's referring to her packages.) No.
(She touches his face. He kisses her hand. Lights fade to very dim as they kiss. We see them, kissing passionately and ABIGAIL climbing up onto HENRY's lap.)
SEVEN
(A gunshot. Lights up full—fast. ABIGAIL jumps off HENRY's lap.)
ABIGAIL: Oh, my God. (Beat.) What was that?
(HENRY pulls her back onto his lap, kisses her, then rubs her back. A few beats.)
ABIGAIL: What happened to you?
HENRY: (rubbing her back) It was a mistake, that's all. I was drunk, I was sittin' in the street with friends from work. I work. At one of those places where they sell used office furniture. Now they got me doing inventory and shit, but I used to be able to move things around.
ABIGAIL: (referring to his rubbing her back) You're distracting me.
HENRY: (Stops rubbing.) Oh. (Beat.) So we were all out in the street and here they come, the boys from two different crews. It was like the gunfight at the OK Corral, man, they walking down the street at each other, you think you're about to see holsters slung across their hips or something. I'm polluted. I get up and yell HEY. Don't ask me why, I don't know. Marty thinks I did it to warn him, but how am I gonna warn him, he's walking with the others, they headed straight for each other. Nah, I was just drunk. (Beat.) Just drunk. Just fucking stupid and drunk.
ABIGAIL: (after a pause) How about that time? Did he have a gun that time?
HENRY: Nah. Martin don't own a gun.
ABIGAIL: He's in a gang without a gun?
HENRY: He's not in a gang exactly. What are you—writing a story for People magazine? (Beat.) I was an investigative reporter myself once upon a time, but I didn't do this sociology bull-shit. I liked to do features—like on Madonna and other famous celebrities of her ilk.
(She puts a finger on his mouth to stop him talking. A couple beats.)
ABIGAIL: I lift weights, you know.
HENRY: (running his hand down her arm) Yeah?
ABIGAIL: I could get this chair up on that porch and into my house. You want to see my house?
HENRY: What, now?
ABIGAIL: We could practice now. Then you could come for real, and we could be in my house in case there's shooting at night. Then in the morning we could sit out on the porch in the sunshine. Then maybe you could leave Martin and Jennifer alone. Why are you so jealous about that?
HENRY: I am not jealous, what the fuck do you mean, jealous? A kid, this girl following him everywhere, it's a dead end that's all.
ABIGAIL: Walking down the street facing off the other—” crew” — is what? A golden opportunity?
HENRY: That's the reality. You go where your posse goes.
ABIGAIL: He loves the girl, he's working at a day care center learning how to be a good father, leave them alone.
HENRY: (Comes in on “good father.” You're full of shit, that's court ordered.
ABIGAIL: (after a beat) You go where your posse goes? Or are you retired?
HENRY: (looking at her intently) Neither. I'm a rugged individualist. Like John Wayne.
(ABIGAIL turns his wheelchair so it faces her house.)
ABIGAIL: Okay, here we go, we're going to try it. (A beat. She stops.) What are they doing here?
HENRY: Excuse me, I didn't hear you right. What are they doing here?
ABIGAIL: The posse, the crew. Where'd they come from?
HENRY: Mars? (Beat.) They live here, what the hell do you think?
ABIGAIL: No, I live here.
HENRY: So do they.
ABIGAIL: Since when?
HENRY: They live around here, what, you never leave this block?
ABIGAIL: Yeah, I
do.
HENRY: Yeah, sure.
ABIGAIL: In my car.
HENRY: Two blocks from here? They got a fresh fish market.
ABIGAIL: (amused) I know that.
HENRY: Yeah. (Beat.) So that's where I got shot. Right in front of the fishmonger. He came runnin' out. I bled all over his apron. A fluke he was there. It was nighttime, you know, so he must have been late with ordering or something. I don't know. (Beat.) He took me to the hospital. (Beat.) I took him for a beer when I got out. (Pause.) So, now Martin has the day care, his crew hangs out on your block. (Beat.) And you and me are gonna do what? We're gonna perform this amazing feat of getting my sorry wheelchair into your extremely yellow house? That's what you want to do?
ABIGAIL: It is. You're not allergic to cats are you? I have four cats. The number of cats roaming around this neighborhood—not fixed—starving—it's disgraceful.
HENRY: I'm not allergic to cats.
ABIGAIL: (taking hold of the wheelchair) Okay. We can do this. You ready?
HENRY: Ready for liftoff. This definitely reminds me of the time I was the first guy to walk in space. (As ABIGAIL leans the wheelchair back and starts to bring it up the couple porch steps.) I am ready.
(The lights go down, and then out.)
A WHOLE HOUSE FULL OF BABIES
Sean O'Connor
A Whole House Full of Babies was first produced at Cap 21 Stage in New York City, on April 21, 2002. Patricia Henritze directed the following cast:
SHEILA Libby Pokel
RENO Robin Barnier
CHARACTERS
SHEILA and RENO: Both sixteen-year-old girls.
SETTING: A somewhat secluded grassy area on the edge of a county fair. The lights of the rides twinkle in the background and the faint strains of carnival music and occasional faraway shouts of children filter in throughout the scene. A discarded crate sits on the ground.
TIME: A summer night. Present day.
(At rise: RENO stands upstage left and watches her friend SHEILA, who is barefoot and a little drunk, weave her way downstage with a can of cheap beer.)
RENO: You all right?
SHEILA: I had too much to drink. (SHEILA sits down on the grass.)