The Lyons
Page 4
CURTIS: I can’t believe that didn’t work.
RITA: I loved that record. When she shouts, “We’ll stay all night, we’ll sing them all.” I still get chills.
BEN: You had other records.
RITA: He replaced it with the Ballad of the Green Beret.
CURTIS: I remember that. I came home and all my toys were gone—except the little green army men.
RITA: I was furious. And he wouldn’t talk about it. I said to him, “You’d rather he grow up a little green army man, than find someone and fall in love—” And he said, “Obviously.” And he slammed a lot of doors and snapped at everyone. It was horrible . . . And that’s the time I bought the gun.
BEN: You had a gun?
RITA: That’s right.
BEN: Where’d you get a gun?
RITA: Do you remember Victor Cardin, two doors down?
CURTIS: The Cardins. Lawn furniture in their living room?
RITA: Exactly. He repossessed cars. For a living. That’s what he did. He found a gun in the back seat of a Cutlass Supreme. He was a nice man.
BEN: You bought a gun?
RITA: Are you not following the story!?
CURTIS: It is hard to believe.
RITA: Why?
BEN: What’d you pay for it?
RITA: Seventy-five dollars. He wanted a hundred, but I paid him seventy-five and made him one of those strawberry Jell-O molds with floating bananas.
BEN: What kind of gun?
RITA: I don’t know. It had a number. A handgun. Black. It was not without its visual appeal.
CURTIS: You were that upset—because of me?
RITA: Actually, because of the record. Have you ever heard the Ballad of the Green Beret? Tuneless. Utterly tuneless. Anyway, I asked Victor Cardin where I could buy bullets and he told me and so the next time I went to get my hair done I made a detour . . . I remember. I was sitting in the kitchen—you were at work—I was sitting at the table, putting the bullets in a gun and hoping I was doing it right. I mean, I’d never held a gun before.
BEN (Quiet): Oh my god.
RITA: I didn’t know if I’d be able to use it, to shoot. Or if I would be good at it. I thought I should check. So I went into the backyard, it was very quiet. Middle of the day, on a Tuesday. I lifted the gun. I could hear my own breathing, nothing else. I was very nervous. And I aimed it. I pointed it at the weeping willow next to where the swing set used to be . . . And I shot it . . . It was very loud. It startled me. I dropped the gun and I stood there for a moment and I thought . . . “That’s that. That’s all you have to do. It’s not so hard.” . . . And then it occurred to me that I should check, that I should look to see if I had hit what I was aiming at. I went over to the tree, to the weeping willow, and I couldn’t find the hole. Then I looked at the swing set . . . Nothing. So then I started at one end of the fence and worked my way, one foot at a time, looking very carefully until I found it. The hole. And by then it was getting late, the sky was turning dark and it was time to start dinner . . . A few days later I sold the gun back to Victor Cardin. He’d only give me fifty dollars. But I didn’t want it in the house.
(Ben is obviously shaken by her story.)
BEN: You tried to kill me.
RITA: No, no. I shot a hole in a fence.
BEN: You wanted to.
RITA: That’s all.
BEN: You wanted to kill me.
RITA: It was a whim.
CURTIS: Why didn’t you leave?
RITA: What, dear?
CURTIS: I mean if you were thinking of murder, you could’ve just left.
RITA (Realizing this): . . . You know that never occurred to me.
BEN: My head hurts.
RITA (Brighter): Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe that nurse should come and do whatever she does whenever she comes.
BEN: I think so.
RITA: I’ll go look for her.
(She starts to leave.)
You don’t happen to know her name, do you?
BEN: No.
RITA: I’ll find her. How many nurses can there be? I’ll find her.
(Rita exits. There’s a pause.)
BEN: Your mother is a bitch.
CURTIS: Apparently.
BEN: She smiles a lot, so she seems nice. And she keeps talking, in that way, so that people don’t notice. But the truth is, she’s a bitch.
CURTIS: Was she always?
BEN: I’m not sure.
CURTIS: Why did you stay?
BEN: With her?
CURTIS: Yes.
BEN (Simple): I loved her.
CURTIS: Oh.
BEN: My fault.
CURTIS: What?
BEN: I still do.
CURTIS: Really?
BEN: Sometimes, I have to remember who she was, but most of the time, who she was is still there. Somewhere. I can still see her when I look at her. Some of the time.
(Beat. Curtis has something difficult to say.)
CURTIS: I want to tell you something.
BEN: I think she was, maybe, always a bitch. I can’t remember now.
CURTIS: I want to say something.
BEN: Say it.
CURTIS (With difficulty): . . . I forgive you.
BEN: What?
CURTIS: I forgive you.
BEN: For what?
CURTIS: For making sure I knew, I wasn’t the child that you wanted.
BEN (Still): . . . Fuck you.
CURTIS: I wanted to say it.
BEN: I don’t need you to forgive me.
CURTIS: I wanted to tell you.
BEN: Who the fuck do you think you are?
CURTIS: Your son.
BEN: I named my son Hilly. After my father.
CURTIS: I know!
BEN: A great man.
CURTIS: I just wanted to say it.
(Beat.)
BEN: Why are you here? We don’t see you. You’re not part of us. Not really.
CURTIS: I have my life!
BEN: You walk in here and you “forgive me”!? Go fuck yourself.
CURTIS: It would be easy, you know. It would be nothing to kill you. I could take a pillow, I could hold it, press it on to you, until you were dead. And it would be nothing.
BEN: So do it. I’m going to die soon anyway. You think I care how it ends? I don’t. My life is one long parade of disappointments. And you’re the grand fucking marshal. Do it!
(Lisa appears in the doorway. She is much more relaxed and cheerful than when she left.)
LISA: Let’s all go to the maternity ward!
CURTIS: What?
LISA: To see the babies!
CURTIS: Why on earth?
LISA: I was thinking, in the elevator, wouldn’t that be fun? It would be fun! We could all go look at babies! (To Ben) Well, not you.
CURTIS: Why?
LISA: They’re so cute! All pink and fat and squishy with their little fingers and their little feet.
BEN: You go if you want.
LISA: Where’s Mother?
BEN: Looking for the nurse.
LISA: I love looking at babies. You know they say that birth is very traumatic. Maybe the most traumatic moment in your whole life. I read that somewhere.
CURTIS: I’m sorry, Lisa.
LISA: Or maybe it was chicks, chickens. You know, chickens—getting out of the egg.
CURTIS: I said I’m sorry.
LISA: For what?
CURTIS: For what I said, for what I did. Before.
LISA: You shouldn’t have. It was wrong and I don’t know that I forgive you. Chickens! It was chickens. It was absolutely chickens!
CURTIS (Under his breath): Oh Christ.
LISA: What? What? What’s the matter?
CURTIS: Have you been drinking?
LISA: Have I been what? Of course not! God! I don’t drink. I haven’t had a drink in years! Five years, clean and sober! You think I’m an idiot? You think I’m gonna throw that all away? I have children! I have a life! I have made a life for myself. I know I can’
t drink! I’m not an idiot! How dare you? How dare you stand there on your own two feet and—
CURTIS: You’ve been drinking.
LISA: A little bit, just a little bit.
CURTIS: Jesus Christ.
LISA: So what!? So I have. I’ve been drinking. It’s my life. And don’t stare at me like that. You’re not my mother.
BEN: Here we go!
LISA: I won’t embarrass you. Don’t worry, Daddy. —That’s all he cares about.
BEN: Where’s the goddamn nurse!?
LISA (To Curtis): He didn’t care—he didn’t care that I drank. Nobody cared! Until I made a spectacle of myself at that godforsaken country club. Like no one ever got drunk before. Like no one ever made a scene or talked too loud or fought with their husband.
BEN: You urinated on the dance floor!
LISA: It was an accident!!
BEN: Well, let’s hope.
(Rita enters, holding a box of candy.)
RITA: I couldn’t find the nurse. But I did get candy.
LISA: Where’d you get that?
RITA: A little girl down the hall just died. I got Jordan Almonds!
CURTIS: Lisa’s drinking.
RITA: What? Really?
LISA: “Lisa’s drinking. Lisa’s drinking.” Why don’t you take out a goddamn ad?
(Lisa takes a fifth of whiskey from her purse. She pours it into a cup.)
RITA (To herself): God, you leave the room for a minute.
LISA (Taking the almonds): Gimme those.
RITA: I was so hoping for a pleasant visit.
CURTIS: Yes. Well. Best laid plans and all of that.
RITA: What?
CURTIS: I think I should get going.
RITA: No, no! You can’t. We haven’t settled when you’re coming.
CURTIS: When I’m coming?
RITA: To visit. To stay with me.
LISA: My invitation’s apparently expired.
CURTIS: I’m not coming.
RITA: You can help redecorate. We’ll have fun! I’ve been looking at magazines for ideas.
CURTIS: I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to think of Peter.
RITA: You can bring him.
CURTIS: He has work. It’s not a good time.
RITA: It’ll be nice. We could get to know each other.
CURTIS: You and I?
RITA: Peter and I.
CURTIS: I don’t think so.
RITA: But—
CURTIS: I’m sorry.
RITA (Demanding): Why not!?
CURTIS (Firm): He has things. He has his life. He can’t just drop everything, he can’t just walk away so we can keep you company. I’ll call you later or you call me if anything—
RITA: Are you ashamed of me?
CURTIS: Of course not.
RITA: Well, I think it’s very strange. I do. You’ve been with Peter for three years and we’ve never met. Do you realize that? I’ve never laid eyes on this person.
CURTIS: Of course, you have. Last year, at your birthday.
RITA: He didn’t come! You said he was sick. I want to know what you’re ashamed of.
CURTIS: I’m not ashamed—
RITA: If it’s not us, is it him? Is there something about Peter?
CURTIS: Of course not.
RITA: Just tell me!
LISA: He’s imaginary.
RITA: I’m talking to your brother!
CURTIS: I have to go.
RITA: I don’t understand—
LISA (Standing): You never met him because he doesn’t exist!!
RITA: What?
LISA: He made him up.
CURTIS: Shut up, Lisa.
LISA: Tell her. There is no Peter. Go on, tell her. There never was.
RITA: I spoke to him on the phone.
LISA: That was just some friend, or someone he paid—probably a homeless person.
RITA: I spoke to him!
LISA (Taking Curtis’s jacket): There is no Peter. And remember Ethan? There was no Ethan.
RITA: Oh my god.
CURTIS: Give me my jacket.
LISA: Imaginary.
CURTIS: Give it to me!
LISA: All imaginary.
CURTIS: Lisa—
LISA: Curtis is alone. That’s right! He doesn’t have anyone. Or see anyone or touch anyone—
CURTIS: Stop it!
LISA: And I don’t think he ever has. It’s all a lie. A giant, fucking, monumental, pathological lie!
RITA (To Curtis): Is that true?
LISA: A fiction!
RITA: Is it true!?
LISA: It’s creepy.
CURTIS: I have to go.
RITA: ANSWER ME!
CURTIS: YES!
RITA (Shaken): Oh my god.
LISA (Victorious): . . . And now, I forgive you.
(He snatches his jacket.)
RITA (To Curtis): Why would you do that?
CURTIS: It was easy. Easier than having you at me.
LISA: Ask him when the last time was.
RITA: The last time for what?
LISA: He’s the man in the glass booth.
CURTIS: Fuck you.
LISA: You judge me, but you’re just a freak.
RITA: I don’t understand.
LISA: There never was a Peter. There never was an Ethan. Although, sometimes, I think, he thought there was.
RITA: I just wanted you to find someone.
LISA: It’s pathetic.
RITA: To love someone.
CURTIS: Like you? Who did you love, tell me, ever, in your whole life?
RITA (Simple): You.
(He has no response. He turns to Lisa.)
CURTIS: You are a horrible person. (To all of them) You are all horrible people. I hope I live the rest of my life and never lay eyes on any of you again!!
(Curtis exits. There’s a pause.)
LISA (Very bright): Wow . . . I had forgotten how much fun drinking can be.
RITA: That was cruel.
LISA (Toasting her): Well, que—as they say in the song—sera.
(Rita looks at Ben. His eyes are closed and she realizes he hasn’t spoken for some time.)
RITA: Find the nurse.
(Lisa rushes out. Rita walks slowly to the window. After a moment the Nurse enters, followed by Lisa. She approaches Ben, and checks his pulse.)
NURSE: Mr. Lyons is sleeping.
RITA: Oh.
NURSE: His breathing is shallow, from the medicine.
RITA: Of course.
NURSE: He should sleep through the night.
RITA: Thank you.
(The Nurse nods and exits. Beat.)
I looked at him, I thought . . .
LISA: I know.
RITA: Well.
LISA: Are you all right?
RITA: Of course.
LISA: Good . . . I should go.
RITA: Yes.
LISA: The kids.
RITA: Of course. —Wait. Call me later. Will you? I don’t think you should be alone.
LISA: I will.
(Lisa gathers her things, kisses Rita on the cheek, then exits. Rita sits in the chair. She picks up her decorating magazine and looks at a page—but then, she realizes she has something to say.)
RITA: Ben. Our children are a disaster. Lonely and terrible . . . I blame you . . . Of course, I was there. So I can’t, in all fairness, lay all the debris at your feet. I was there. I watched. I watched it all, and I remember everything. I do. I remember the first time I saw you. I was with a friend, we were so young, and you walked over to the car and the sun was behind you so I couldn’t see your face. But as soon as I did. I could see, right then, that first moment, that you loved me . . . And I was trapped. And I tried, for a very long time and with all my might, to love you back. I remember the very first time you ever touched me . . . I remember sitting, by myself, in the dark, in the middle of the night. I remember your face, so dark and hard, like metal. And although I’ve tried, I don’t remember, when it happened, the moment when I started ha
ting you. I’ve searched and searched. I’ve looked in every corner, but I can’t find it. I suppose it isn’t really there. No moment. No single second when it happened. It was slow and inevitable, like getting old. I didn’t hear it happen, and then I noticed that it had. It had to. And all you ever did was love someone you thought I was . . . And now you get to leave . . . And I am . . . so frightened. You’ve been my work for all these years. And I have never been alone.
(She starts to cry.)
I don’t know what to do, or what I am.
(She sits there for a moment, still, crying, looking at her husband. Curtis appears in the doorway. He looks at his parents for a moment. And then . . . )
CURTIS: Is he dead?
(She smiles, so pleased at the sound of his voice. She looks at him.)
RITA: Maybe tomorrow.
(Blackout.)
Act Two
Scene 1
LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION
An empty apartment. One large room, with a kitchen along the wall and a door to a bathroom. There is some debris on the floor, in a corner: some magazines, a few paper coffee cups. Brian enters, dressed for business. He’s followed by Curtis, who is dressed more casually. Brian turns on the lights.
BRIAN: Well. As you can see, it’s move-in ready.
CURTIS: Except for the garbage.
BRIAN: Workmen.
CURTIS: Is that a northern exposure?
BRIAN: West.
CURTIS: So there’s no morning sun.
BRIAN: No, but it gets the afternoon. You can’t have everything. The view isn’t half bad really. Trust me. If you shut your eyes you can see the Chrysler building.
CURTIS: Pardon me?
BRIAN: I was making a joke. A little real-estate humor. There isn’t much of a view. But the price is right.
CURTIS: Maybe.
BRIAN: I think the bed would work along this wall, and you could screen off the kitchen area.
CURTIS: I could.
BRIAN: I’m told the seller’s very motivated.
(Curtis looks around.)
CURTIS: Is it noisy? What do you think? I mean the traffic. I work at home so that’s important.
BRIAN: I can’t imagine noise’ll be a problem. You’re five flights up—and you’re right next door to the Unitarian church.
CURTIS: Are they quiet?
BRIAN: I’m told they are. And as I said, the seller’s ready to deal.
CURTIS: Why?