The Lyons
Page 3
BEN: She’s full of crap.
RITA: You should come for a visit, a long visit. We’ll have fun!
LISA: Well, I’ll think about it.
BEN: That means no.
LISA: Do we have to decide this minute?
RITA: Certainly not. Do you want to look at some decorating magazines? I’m redoing the living room.
LISA: Oh, thank god. It’s awful.
BEN: It is not.
LISA: Daddy, please.
BEN: I like it.
LISA: It’s disgusting. You walk into the house and you think, “My god, poor people live here.” You live like poor people. Is that what you want people to think?
BEN: Who gives a fuck what people think?
(Lisa joins Rita. They look at a magazine together.)
RITA: I’m seeing pale blue walls. Icy blue.
BEN: You care too much what people think.
RITA: Glacial blue.
LISA: It sounds a little cold.
RITA: That’s what I’m going for.
BEN: Do you hear from David?
LISA: I see him when he sees the boys.
RITA: Oh, good.
BEN: You should move, You should move out of the state, That’d teach him, the motherfucker.
RITA (Regarding the cursing): You hear that?
BEN: It’s his fault. I never liked him. Selfish, juvenile bastard. It’s all his fault.
LISA: What are you talking about? What’s his fault?
BEN: Your drinking. It’s his fault you started drinking. You never drank before the two of you got married. Never! Not a cocktail, a glass of wine at dinner—nothing! He started you. He started you and look what happened. He’s to blame!
LISA: We met at Alcoholics Anonymous!!
BEN: I blame him!
RITA (Regarding the magazine): Do you think plaid is too casual?
(Curtis appears in the doorway. He’s holding a plant that is several times larger than the one Lisa brought. It is so large, in fact, that his head can’t quite be seen over the top of it.)
CURTIS: Hello?
RITA: Curtis!
CURTIS: How is everyone?
RITA: Let me take that.
CURTIS: Thank you.
RITA (Taking the plant): So heavy!
CURTIS: Can you manage?
(Rita puts the large plant next to the very small plant Lisa brought. Beat. They all look at them for a moment.)
LISA: Well. He’s not raising two children all by himself!
CURTIS: What, is David on the dole or something?
LISA: “On the dole”? What are you British now?
CURTIS: Don’t you get child support?
LISA: Oh, shut up.
RITA: You look wonderful.
CURTIS: Thank you.
RITA: How’s your weight?
CURTIS: You’re looking right at me.
RITA: Who can tell?
(Curtis takes off his jacket and puts it on a chair.)
CURTIS: How are you, Dad? How are you feeling?
LISA: He’s dying.
CURTIS: What?
LISA: He’s dying.
CURTIS: Oh for god’s sake Lisa, everything with you is tragedy.
LISA: You don’t understand—
CURTIS: I mean, we’re all dying, aren’t we?
LISA: Not this week, we’re not!
CURTIS: What?
LISA: He’s dying.
CURTIS: . . . What do you mean?
LISA: He has cancer, apparently in every inch of him, and he’s going to die—tonight, tomorrow, maybe next week.
BEN: Not next week.
CURTIS: Oh my god.
RITA: It’s true.
CURTIS: Oh my god.
LISA: That’s right. And they’ve known this. They’ve known about this for some time, the two of them, and they never told us.
CURTIS: You’re dying?
LISA: Did you hear me? They’ve known this for months. They never said a thing!
RITA: We didn’t want to bother you.
LISA: Can you believe that! Our father is clinging to life by a cobweb—and they never mentioned it!
CURTIS: Well . . . Actually, I think that’s nice. I think it’s sort of considerate.
LISA: What!?
CURTIS: I think it’s thoughtful.
LISA: You’re serious?
CURTIS: In fact, given the grotesquely narcissistic and infantile standard by which they normally operate, I think it’s surprisingly generous.
RITA: Thank you, dear.
LISA: It’s insane! It’s insane and selfish! That’s what it is. And the fact that you don’t really care is just indicative of how little you care about anything or anyone for that matter!
RITA: Please! Let’s not argue. We’re never together, all four of us. Let’s talk about something pleasant.
(There’s a long, awkward pause. They all just look at each other.)
CURTIS: Does it hurt?
BEN: I’m on a drip.
(Another awkward pause.)
RITA: Is Peter coming?
CURTIS (Shaking his head): Oral surgery.
RITA: Oh.
CURTIS: Sorry.
RITA: He must have terrible teeth.
CURTIS: Not really.
RITA: He always seems to have—
CURTIS: Bad gums.
(Yet another awkward pause.)
RITA: Are you writing anything? Are you working on anything?
CURTIS: Not right now.
LISA: I have to say, I think it’s in terrible taste, I do, to show up at a hospital with a potted tree.
CURTIS: You have to say that?
LISA: Yes. That’s right. I have to.
RITA: We were lucky to get this private room.
BEN: They put me in semi-private first. The other guy had a baboon heart.
RITA: He did not.
BEN: You don’t listen.
RITA: He was here for gallstones.
BEN: Fuck you!
RITA: Your father feels that imminent death gives him license to—
BEN: Talk the way I want? You bet your fat ass.
CURTIS: Good for you.
BEN: Go fuck yourself!
CURTIS (To Lisa): How long are visiting hours?
LISA (Despairing): I have no idea.
RITA (Bright, to Curtis): You know what I was thinking? Maybe you’d like to come for a visit. Stay with me for a while.
LISA: I thought I was coming?
RITA: You said you didn’t want to.
LISA: I said I’d think about it.
RITA: Six of one, dear, really.
CURTIS (To Lisa): How are the kids?
LISA: They’re fine.
CURTIS: Is Jeremy better?
LISA: He is not retarded!
CURTIS: You had him tested?
LISA: Let’s watch TV.
(Lisa looks for the remote. The phone rings. Rita goes to it.)
BEN: God, I hope it’s death.
LISA: That’s not funny, Daddy. It’s just in bad taste.
RITA (Into the phone): Hello?
LISA (To Curtis): Where did you park?
CURTIS: There’s a lot.
BEN: I told you!
RITA (To Curtis): It’s for you.
CURTIS: That’ll be Peter. I told him to call.
(Curtis takes the phone.)
BEN (To Rita): The man had a baboon heart.
RITA: That was a movie. You’re confused.
CURTIS (Into the phone): I’m okay.
RITA (To Lisa): He gets confused.
BEN: I do not.
CURTIS (Into the phone): I don’t know.
RITA: Last night he thought I was Suzanne Pleshette.
BEN: I said I wished you were Suzanne Pleshette.
RITA (To Lisa): It’s the drugs.
CURTIS (Into the phone): Not too late . . . I love you, too.
(Curtis hangs up.)
RITA: How’s his mouth?
CURTIS: His what?
RITA: His gums.
CURTIS: Oh, fine.
RITA (To Lisa): When are you going to find someone?
LISA: Oh, I dunno. I was going to do it today, but then you called and here I am.
RITA: What happened to that Bill?
LISA: You mean Bob?
RITA: He was darling. He was so attractive, all that beautiful hair. And he had very good manners. He always called me “Mrs. Lyons” no matter how many times I told him to call me “Rita,” he insisted. And I liked his hands and he had very broad—
LISA: He had herpes. All right?
RITA: Oh . . . Well. I see. Herpes. Hmmm.
CURTIS: So, he had herpes? So what? If you cared about him, what’s the difference? It doesn’t kill you.
LISA: I know that.
CURTIS: It shouldn’t matter.
LISA: It mattered to me. I couldn’t feel . . . comfortable, when we were intimate.
RITA: Really dear, no one feels comfortable when they’re intimate.
BEN: Your mother used to vomit a lot.
RITA: Don’t tell people that!
BEN: It’s true.
RITA (To Lisa): I don’t understand it. You’re a sweet girl. You’re perfectly nice looking—
LISA: Thanks so much.
RITA: I mean it. Since you stopped boozing and lost all the weight.
CURTIS (To himself): Unbelievable.
RITA: Maybe you don’t like men.
LISA: Maybe they don’t like me.
BEN: Maybe she’s gay. Like what’s-his-name.
CURTIS (Annoyed): My name is Curtis.
BEN: Not really.
LISA: I’m not gay!
RITA: Then I don’t understand it. I mean what man in his right mind wouldn’t adore you?
CURTIS: Herpes isn’t the end of the world.
RITA (A great idea): You know what? There’s a very nice young man down the hall, Leonard something, end stages of lymphoma—and I think he’s Jewish!
LISA: What?
RITA: I’ve talked to his mother. Lovely. Go meet him.
LISA: I don’t think so.
RITA: You don’t try! That’s why you’re alone. Go say hello!
LISA: I don’t want to!
BEN: She doesn’t want to!
RITA: Is there someone better on the horizon? Is there? Is there some line of suitors I know nothing about? From what I can see you’re home, all alone, waiting for some perfect man to knock on your door, out of the blue and that’s just not—
LISA: There’s David!
(Pause.)
RITA: Your David?
BEN: Are you seeing that cocksucker?
LISA: He’s not a cocksucker.
RITA: It’s a figure of speech, dear.
CURTIS: She sees him.
LISA (Defensive): When he picks up the boys.
CURTIS: And sometimes—
LISA (Sharp): Stop talking! It’s my business.
RITA: Is something there? Is something brewing?
LISA: I don’t know.
RITA: I loved you as a couple. David and Lisa. Like that movie. What was that called?
CURTIS: David and Lisa.
LISA: I don’t know. We’re talking. We’re just talking. It’s good for the boys.
BEN: He started your drinking.
LISA: Oh for god’s sake. I was drunk in the fourth grade! I didn’t even know him!
RITA: Has he said anything?
LISA: About what?
RITA: Reconciling.
LISA: No.
BEN: Thank god.
RITA: Has he met anyone?
LISA: I don’t think so.
RITA: Then it could, it could work out. I think that would be wonderful! Things happen. People go away and they come back. It’s not so unusual. Famous people do it all the time. You two could get back together.
CURTIS: What the hell is the matter with you?
RITA: What do you mean?
CURTIS: That’s what you want? They should get back together?
LISA: You don’t know him!
CURTIS: I know enough.
BEN: What does that mean?
LISA (To Curtis): It’s so easy for you.
CURTIS: That you’re even considering—
LISA: You weren’t there! With us!
CURTIS: He’s an asshole.
LISA: He is not!! You don’t know him! . . . You don’t. He used to look at me. And we just—we communicated something. We connected. He trusted me . . . He looked at me. He thought I could help him. He thought I could save him.
RITA (Quiet): That’s a lot.
LISA: I still see him, all the time, brown hair, straight hair, beautiful eyes. Looking at me. At night, the boys are asleep and the room is quiet. I listen for him. Next to me. The sound of breathing . . . It hurts so much.
CURTIS: And?
LISA: And he loved me.
CURTIS: And?
LISA: And I fucked up.
RITA: How?
LISA: He thought I could save him—
CURTIS: And.
LISA: And nothing.
CURTIS: For god’s sake.
LISA: And nothing!
CURTIS: Say it.
LISA: You promised me!
CURTIS: Just say it!
LISA: It’s private! Do you understand me? It’s private!
CURTIS: And he hit you!
BEN: What!
CURTIS: He hit her.
LISA: You promised!
BEN: Motherfucker.
LISA (To Curtis): YOU PROMISED ME!
CURTIS: Not just once.
LISA: Stop it.
CURTIS: All the time.
LISA: It wasn’t his fault!
CURTIS (To Rita): Still hope they reconcile?
LISA: It wasn’t that bad!
CURTIS: You called me from the hospital!
LISA: One time!
CURTIS (To Rita): You should’ve seen her.
LISA: It was my fault!
CURTIS: All bloody. Blood everywhere.
LISA: You promised me!! You swore to me! You stood there and you promised that you’d never say it—you’d never tell anyone!
CURTIS: I lied.
LISA: I have to go—
CURTIS: It’s fine, if that’s what you want—
LISA: I have to call someone.
CURTIS: Let him hit you—
LISA: I have to call my sponsor!
CURTIS: But don’t call me when you go over a cliff!
LISA: YOU DON’T KNOW HIM!! YOU WEREN’T THERE!!
CURTIS: . . . True. So do what you want. Let him beat the holy fucking crap out of you. It’s not my business.
LISA (Fighting tears, getting her purse): I, I—I have to make a call.
RITA (Offering): Use the phone.
LISA: I’ll be back. I’ll be—I just—I’ll be right back. I need some air. Excuse me.
(Lisa exits. Beat.)
RITA (Quietly): I had no idea.
(There’s a pause. No one moves. The Nurse enters and looks at Ben’s IV drip.)
NURSE: Are you in pain?
BEN: Yes.
(The Nurse adjusts the drip, punching numbers on its keypad.)
NURSE: That should help.
(The Nurse takes Ben’s chart from its holder on the wall and makes notes for a moment, then replaces it.)
I’ll come back later.
(The Nurse smiles at Rita, then exits.)
RITA (Quiet): I like her.
CURTIS: She seems nice.
BEN: She is.
(Beat.)
RITA: Romance is a treacherous arena.
BEN: What the fuck does that mean?
RITA: I was talking about Lisa.
BEN: Speak English.
RITA: Not everything is about you, you know.
BEN: Could it be? Is that possible? I mean, I am dying.
RITA (To Curtis): You’re very lucky. You and Peter. You never fight, do you?
CURTIS: Not much.
&nb
sp; RITA: That’s very rare.
BEN: It’s freakish.
RITA: Your father and I . . . I remember one time, one summer. You were at camp, so you were maybe nine, or twelve. Your father and I were fighting all the time. You fight when there are children around, but it’s different when they’re not. When the kids are at camp the knives come out. It was incredibly hot that summer—we had air-conditioning of course, but still the heat made everyone edgy all the time. You can only smile blankly so many times in response to someone at the hardware store chirping blithely, “Hot enough for you?” . . . That was a terrible summer. Do you remember that, Ben?
BEN: How do I know?
RITA: That hot summer.
BEN: Summers are hot.
RITA: The children were at camp.
BEN: It’s always hot in the summer.
RITA: You remember.
BEN: That’s why it’s summer.
RITA: Think back.
BEN: I might remember! I didn’t say I don’t. But how the hell do I know if I remember if I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about?
RITA: You decided, that summer, while Curtis and Lisa were at camp, that Curtis was a homosexual.
CURTIS: He decided?
RITA: He got it into his head.
BEN: I was right, wasn’t I?
RITA: That isn’t the point.
BEN: I knew it. I knew it before anyone else.
CURTIS: How old am I in this story?
RITA: I’m not sure. Seven—or thirteen.
BEN: I could smell it.
RITA: Ben, please. Enough with the smells. (To Curtis) Before you got here he went off on a terrible jag all about how his father had BO and smelled like fish or something.
BEN: He did not have BO!
CURTIS: Grandpa Hilly?
RITA (To Ben): You said it. Not me.
BEN: He was a monumental man. You should be proud to have his name.
CURTIS: I don’t think it’s even really a name. “Hilly.” Wasn’t it short for something?
RITA: Nobody knows.
BEN (To Curtis): He would’ve hated you.
CURTIS: Thanks.
RITA: I was saying. You were at camp, and your father got it into his head that you were queer. Is that an all right word?
CURTIS: It doesn’t matter.
BEN: We used “faggot” then. Nobody cared.
RITA: And he decided he had to do something about it.
CURTIS: Like what?
BEN: Electric shock.
CURTIS: You’re kidding, right?
BEN: Half.
RITA: He wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. He was so embarrassed. I mean the grandson of Ernest-Hilly-Lyons-Hemmingway turns out to be some fudge-packing pansy. He was mortified. I loved it. The point is he had to do something and didn’t know what. So he sent me to the library, because he couldn’t check books out about this, not on this subject. So I brought him some books and he read them. Some of them. And he still didn’t know what to do. All he could think of was throwing out all your toys—and the Judy Garland at Carnegie Hall album.