by Nicky Silver
LISA: Why would he write to you?
RITA: I found this letter on my dressing table yesterday morning. In it Raymond tells me that he thinks I’m funny. He thinks I’m vivacious and witty and that I have an unparalleled zest for living.
LISA (Snatching the letter): Give me that!
RITA: It’s true. He says that getting to know me has been one of the great joys of his life.
LISA: My Raymond?!
CURTIS: You?
RITA: That’s right. And that he cares for me.
CURTIS: He says all that?
RITA: More or less.
LISA: I can’t make out a word.
CURTIS: How old is this guy?
LISA: He’s forty-something!
RITA: Is it so unbelievable that he should care for me?
CURTIS: Is that rhetorical?
LISA: When did this happen?! Where was I while this was going on? I’ve been there every day.
RITA: You do sleep, don’t you?
CURTIS: Most people wait until after the funeral to begin seeing someone, but I suppose . . .
LISA: I feel very betrayed! Very hurt and very betrayed.
RITA: We didn’t plan this. It just happened. Things happen. People meet, there are sparks—
LISA: You’re saying you’ve had sex with him? You’ve slept with Raymond!?
RITA: That’s none of your business! Yes.
LISA: Oh my god!
RITA: He thought it might upset you.
LISA: He told me he couldn’t get an erection because he had diabetes.
RITA: He told me that he told you that.
CURTIS: You’re having sex with some forty year old? Who are you?!
RITA: I’m the same person I’ve always been. And I waited until your father was almost dead.
CURTIS: Do you have feelings for this Raymond?
RITA: Please don’t call him “this Raymond.”
CURTIS: Do you?
RITA (Dismissive): He’s fine. He’s nice looking.
LISA: I feel sick.
CURTIS (To Rita): But you believe he has feelings for you.
RITA: Of course not.
CURTIS: What?
RITA: I’m not stupid, Curtis. But neither is Raymond. He can spot an opportunity.
LISA: What does that mean?
RITA: Raymond is an artist. A painter, to be exact. He’s a cross between David Hockney and Willem de Kooning.
CURTIS: It sounds awful.
RITA: It is. He says his art would improve if he didn’t have to work for a living.
LISA: Raymond? My Raymond?
RITA: Yes, dear. The very first night he came to the house—you were asleep—he opened up to me over an Entenmann’s coffee ring and we talked. We talked for hours. He ended up crying, about something. I don’t know what. I wasn’t really paying attention . . . And I took him to my bed.
LISA: Oh my god!
CURTIS: You’re a middle-aged matron! What are you doing taking strange men, men you don’t even know, to your bed? It’s, it’s—unseemly. It’s disgusting!
RITA: I’m ignoring that.
LISA: But—
RITA: The point is, we’re going to Aruba.
LISA: Aruba!?
CURTIS: When?!
RITA: Tonight.
CURTIS: You’re serious!?
RITA: Yes. If you’d said you wanted to recuperate with me, I would have postponed. But you didn’t.
LISA: I can’t believe this!
RITA: It’s true. We discussed it this morning, while you were in the shower. There’s a flight tonight, out of JFK, and we’re going to be on it.
CURTIS: Don’t you think it’s in sort of bad taste?! I mean, the very day of your husband’s funeral you run off with a man you’ve known for a week?!
RITA: I really don’t care.
LISA: I need a sponsor!
RITA: He’ll make a call.
CURTIS: How long will you be gone?
RITA: Indefinitely.
LISA: What does that mean!?
RITA: It means a long time. I don’t know how long. But a long time.
LISA: You’re just running away?!
RITA: More or less.
LISA: I can’t breathe.
RITA: I’m starting over. I’m beginning again. I’m not so old that I should just give up.
CURTIS: You know he only wants your money. He may say “zest for life” but he means big fat bank account.
RITA: Of course I know that. And that brings me to the second part of my announcement. Curtis, you’re going to have to find another way to live.
CURTIS: What do you mean?
RITA: It was fine for me to give you money when your father was alive—
LISA: You gave him money?!
RITA: But your father left less than I expected, and if I’m going to keep Raymond happy I’ll need every cent.
CURTIS: You’re just cutting me off?
RITA: It’s overdue, really.
CURTIS: Without warning?!
RITA: Let’s be honest. Even if your short stories were wonderful, which they’re not, there’s no living to be made there. You’ve had a dozen years to write your way out of mediocre obscurity and you’ve failed. At a certain point it’s time to face facts, consider your options and devise a new plan. I might feel differently if I thought you were talented, but I don’t.
LISA: How much money did you give him?!
CURTIS: You don’t think I’m talented!?
RITA: I know it’s a shock—
CURTIS: It certainly is!
LISA: You can’t do this!
CURTIS: You’re just cutting me off?!
LISA: This is a very bad time—
CURTIS: Why? Why now?!
LISA: You cannot do this! I forbid you to!
RITA: I hoped you’d be happy for me.
LISA: I think it’s selfish—incredibly selfish! We’re your children. Our father’s just died and you decide to take this moment and—
CURTIS: Have you thought this through?!
LISA (Mumbled, to herself):
God grant me the serenity:
To accept the things I cannot change;
CURTIS:
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.
Why are you doing this? Can you tell me? Can you explain it to me? Tell me! Why are you doing this!!?
RITA (Triumphant): BECAUSE I CAN! Because I have to! I think I have to! There is nothing for me here. Yes, to the naked eye, there are connections. I have children. I have friends. But my friends are strangers and my children are sad and unforgiving. Lisa, I cannot live, every day, under the mountain of tragedy you create. Your life is too treacherous and too exhausting. A cloud passes in front of the sun and you see Armageddon! Curtis, whatever your childhood was, it’s an old book and the pages are faded. You refuse to forgive anyone for anything and it’s enough! I realize you are who you are and I bear responsibility. But the days turn into years and it has to end! I’m doing this because I spent forty years in a marriage to a man I never loved. But even contempt is a connection—and now that’s gone, and I am rootless in the world. I’m doing this because I’m still alive and I have to find a way to try to feel something! It may seem fast, or look abrupt, but that’s the way the world is. You wait and wait and wait and then everything changes, all at once! And yes, I’m scared. I am scared to death. But I’m going to take this leap. Do you understand me?! I want to spend my time on the sand, in the sun, by the water, with a man too young for me, because I’m in a position to do it! Do I love him? No. Does he love me? I doubt it very much. But he’s nice. And he thinks I’m funny and we aren’t locked in some war that never ends! I’m sorry if you feel abandoned, but you’re adults now and it’s time. It’s past time! Your father is gone and I have to become something else! Raymond is waiting for me. We are going to Aruba. Tonight! I’m going to fly away from this place and you and my life! I’m going to start over, all over! I am leav
ing! And you can shout bon voyage, or, frankly, you can both go fuck yourselves.
(Rita gets her purse.)
Lisa, you can pick any urn you want. Wish me luck.
(Rita exits. There is a long pause.)
CURTIS: Wow . . . He was right.
LISA: What?
CURTIS: She is a bitch.
LISA: . . . I can’t believe it.
CURTIS: She doesn’t think I’m talented.
LISA: How much money did she give you?
CURTIS: Let it go.
(Beat. They are both fairly devastated.)
LISA (Fragile): She’s gone.
CURTIS: Did you ever think . . . ?
LISA: Never.
CURTIS (Forced): Well . . . Well. Good for her.
LISA: Hmmm.
(There’s a pause. We can see that their mother’s departure has made them both feel quite sad and a little empty. And then, Lisa has a great insight. She stands.)
I’m gonna go.
CURTIS: What?
LISA: I should go.
CURTIS: Wait. Stay for a while. You can call a cab.
LISA: No, really, I—
CURTIS: Just a little while.
LISA: I shouldn’t.
CURTIS: Please?
LISA (After a quick internal debate): I don’t want to.
CURTIS: Oh.
LISA: I’m sorry.
CURTIS: Why should you? I mean, really, why should you? It’s not like we’re friends. We’ve never been friends. Really.
LISA: I’m sorry about that.
CURTIS: You want to go home.
LISA (Becoming happy): No. No, actually, I don’t. I was thinking, just now, that I want to call David. I want to hear his voice. But then I realized, you know, it always makes me sad. I don’t think it will, and then it does.
CURTIS: Oh.
LISA: I’m gonna go visit Leonard.
CURTIS: The dying guy?
LISA: I know you think it’s strange. And it’s not what Mother said, at least not really. I mean, it’s not a “romance.” I don’t think we have a future together. And it’s not like when I first saw David . . . God. I looked into those eyes and they were so beautiful. Not quite brown. Not quite green. They were . . .
CURTIS: Hazel. That color is hazel.
LISA: Leonard’s eyes are just plain brown. Yesterday, I was feeding him—I put some pudding on the spoon and held it to his mouth. And he looked at me, but what I saw in his eyes, his plain brown eyes . . . was happiness. It was simple. It was undiluted. Happiness. And what really surprised me—I didn’t expect it, not at all—but what really surprised me, is that it made me happy.
(Lisa gets her purse.)
I’m going to visit Leonard.
CURTIS: Will you come back?
LISA: I don’t think so.
CURTIS (Embarrassed): Please? . . . I’m sort of scared.
LISA: Of what? You’ll go home in a few days. Things will be just like they were. Everything will be the same.
CURTIS: Not really. Not exactly. I’ll be alone.
LISA: What?
CURTIS (Fragile): . . . I won’t have Peter.
LISA: I don’t understand.
CURTIS: He did this, to me . . . (Starting to cry) Peter. This man. I watched him.
LISA (Gentle): Oh.
CURTIS: He did this.
LISA: I’m sorry.
CURTIS (Quiet, to himself): Doesn’t matter.
(She searches for something to say that will assuage her brother’s pain.)
LISA: I realize that I’m no one to give advice, but maybe some day, Curtis, try people.
CURTIS: Maybe.
LISA (Peaceful): I’m going to go feed pudding to Leonard. Hmmm.
(She smiles at him, then exits. We can see that Curtis feels very much alone. Despite his efforts he is crying.)
CURTIS (To himself): Shit.
(After a moment, the Nurse appears in the doorway. She is chewing gum. Curtis pulls himself together.)
NURSE: They’re all gone?
CURTIS: What?
NURSE (Entering): Your visitors, they’re gone?
CURTIS: Yes.
NURSE: Noisy group.
CURTIS: I guess so.
NURSE (Regarding his dinner): Did you eat?
CURTIS: No.
NURSE: What are you trying to prove?
CURTIS: I won’t eat that.
NURSE: Big man.
CURTIS: Fuck you!!
NURSE: Hmmm. You’re in a worse mood than usual.
CURTIS: Sorry.
NURSE: Your incision?
CURTIS: No. No, it’s not . . . You see a lot of things, people, right? Life, death in these rooms.
NURSE (Running the thermometer across his forehead): If you say so.
CURTIS: Does it make sense to you?
NURSE: What?
CURTIS: All of it?
NURSE (Amused): What? You think I can explain life to you? You think I’m going to have some big insight into the wreckage of your life? Shit. I’m a nurse.
CURTIS: Oh.
NURSE: All right. Here goes. The way I see it, there are no answers. Some people are happy. And some people are just lonely, mean and sad. And that’s the world.
CURTIS: Oh.
NURSE: You strike me as the second kind.
CURTIS: Well, thanks.
NURSE: Don’t mention it. (Regarding his dinner) —Should I leave that?
CURTIS: Stay a while?
NURSE: For what?
CURTIS: To talk. Just . . . talk.
NURSE (Annoyed): You’re not the only patient on this floor.
CURTIS: Please?
NURSE: Grow up already.
(She starts to exit.)
CURTIS: Wait! . . . One more thing.
NURSE (Annoyed): What?
CURTIS (Simple): . . . What’s your name?
(They look at each other for a long moment. And then she decides to tell him.)
NURSE: Jeanette.
(They look at each other.)
CURTIS: Jeanette.
(He removes the lid from his dinner and takes a bite. The Nurse watches. After a moment, she walks to a chair and sits down.)
NURSE: All right, fine. What do you wanna talk about?
(He eats. Blackout.)
END OF PLAY
Deleted Scene
When the play premiered at the Vineyard there was an additional scene. Act Two opened with Lisa addressing the audience, in front of the act curtain. This was not in the original draft, but added later. It had been expressed to me that we didn’t spend enough time with Lisa. This was my solution. I wasn’t completely satisfied with the speech and so I rewrote it for the Broadway transfer. Kate Jennings Grant did a spectacular job with it! She was funny and heartbreaking and wonderful. Still, at the end of the day, it felt unnecessary. Again, I credit Kate. She created such a vivid character, so much more vivid than Lisa on the page, that we no longer needed the extra material. So after several previews we took it out. This was very painful for me, and I’m sure for Kate, although she was completely gracious about it. (She always is.) In any event, here is the speech that only a few audiences got to see:
LISA: My name is Lisa. And I’m an alcoholic.
(Recorded voices respond: “Hi, Lisa.”)
I’ve been sober now for five years. Until Tuesday. My father’s sick. I guess he’s dying. I mean he is. He’s dying. And the pressure just—I don’t know, seeing him, at the hospital like that, I guess it shook me up. That’s a lie. I mean it was disturbing. But that’s not why I drank. We were all together—all four of us, my brother, my parents and me. And I know they love me and blah blah blah, but you can’t please them. There’s no pleasing them. And I mean really, who are they to judge me? So I had a drink? So what? You know, five years ago, when I stopped drinking, really stopped drinking, I ate nonstop. All day, all night. I was washing down Oreos with Big Macs. I’d tell myself, “It’s not for me. I want Happy Meal toys for the kids.” Ten th
ousand toys later, nothing fit and my thighs were chafing. —So, right now, to be perfectly honest, I think maybe I’d rather be a skinny drunk than fat and sober—and whose brilliant idea was it to have doughnuts at these meetings anyway? . . . Sorry, I’m sorry. Raymond, my new sponsor, is helping me see that it’s not a case of either/or. I’m trying to stay cheerful—but frankly it’s exhausting. David used to say—No, no. I’m not going to talk about him. David’s my ex-husband and I’m trying to see him in a clearer light. I don’t know why it’s so hard. It’s not like he was perfect. He was moody and sullen and, frankly, a little depressive. I mean his favorite movie is Judgment at Nuremberg!
I don’t want to talk about David. The boys miss him. I mean they see him, of course, but it’s not the same. So I feel like I have to pick up the slack. A couple months ago they had this thing at school, Field Day. You know, where instead of classes all the kids spend the afternoon in the yard running races and stuff. Our tax dollars at work. And Jeremy’s not really very athletic. Everyone has things they’re good at and things they’re not. Jeremy’s not athletic. Well, I went, you know, to be supportive. And he ran the ten-yard race, and the twenty-yard race and the hundred-yard. And he was last. I mean consistently last. And then this woman, one of the mothers that I’d never met, she was wearing a lot of perfume. We were outdoors and it was still too much. This other mother says to me, all smiling, she says, “Which one is your little boy?” And I don’t know why I did it! I didn’t think about it. I panicked. I mean I love him, I love my kids but—I pointed at some other kid, some athletic kid in a very cute top. And she asked me his name, but before I could tell her, this other mother taps my shoulder and chimes in with, “That’s my son! You’re pointing at my child!” And the two of them just stared at me like I was some kind of freak. They were waiting for me to explain, but I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. I just turned and left and rushed to my car. And I got out as fast as I could. I was driving very fast, so fast, in fact, I missed my street. And I thought to myself, “Just go. Just go and go and keep on going, keep driving till you’re far away and no one knows you, just drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and—”
(Her cell phone rings.)
Shit. Sorry, I thought I turned that off.
(She looks at her phone.)
It’s my mother. I better take it. (Into the phone) Hello . . . Of course.
(She hangs up. Beat. When she speaks it’s as if she’s been sentenced to prison.)