Damsels in Distress

by Alan Ayckbourn

  On the desk, her mobile rings again. She puts down the watering can hurriedly, rushes back to the desk and, glancing at the screen, prepares to answer it.

  Oh, God! Please God! (She takes a deep breath and answers. Exaggeratedly calm) Hi, Jason! Good morning. Yes? … Yes? … Oh that, yes … Practically forgotten about that, so long ago … Uh-huh … Yep … Well, that’s nice of them … yes that’s really nice they said that … yep … I think I did, yes … Yes, but do they want me, Jason? … (She listens.) Yes, but do they? … Jason, do they want me? … Do they want me or her? … Yep. Yep. OK. No, that’s fine … No, I’m not. Not at all. No. Yes, well … maybe they will … yep. OK. Yes, no, I’m quite busy just now … thanks all the same. Another time. Yes, thank you. I will. Don’t worry. ’Bye. (She stands very dejected, on the verge of tears.) Oh. (She punches out a number.) Hi, Cat. It’s me again. Yes, I just heard. No, in the end they went for her. I thought they would, I really did. No, well, obviously they felt I was … No. I’m fine about it. Really. Just fine. No, I feel absolutely … (Suddenly the tears are ebbing up.) It’s just – God, Cat – I could have at least got a job, couldn’t I? I deserve that surely? I’ve given up smoking, I’ve got no money and since Davie walked out, I haven’t even had decent sex for six months, I mean I deserve something, don’t I? It’s just not fair, it really isn’t –

  At this moment, the doorbell rings.

  Oh, God! Someone’s at the door, I’ll call you back, Cat. Yes.

  The doorbell rings again. She disconnects.

  It’ll be that bloody Annette Sefton-Wilcox again, I know it.

  Rosie gets up and goes to the the kitchen where she grabs some kitchen roll and attempts to tidy herself up. She goes and opens the front door. Sam, in his thirties, stands there.

  Sam (smiling) Hi!

  Rosie (despite her current state, impressed) Oh.

  Sam Sorry. Am I –

  Rosie What?

  Sam Am I – interrupting something?

  Rosie No, no.

  Sam Sam. Hello.

  Rosie Oh, yes?

  Sam Sam Berryman. Flat 3B. From next door.

  Rosie Oh.

  Sam I know we haven’t met. I’ve been your neighbour for six months.

  Rosie Oh, no. I’m not –

  Sam I heard your front door close. I knew you must be back. (moving past her) What a lovely flat. Do you mind?

  Rosie (feebly) Listen …

  Sam (moving towards the open window) Oh, look at this. You have the view. You definitely have the view, don’t you?

  Rosie No, I should explain, I’m not –

  Sam I’m at the back there so all I have is the park. I mean, the park’s nice enough. But the river is better. (He steps outside on to the balcony.) God! Look at this. Isn’t this wonderful!

  Rosie (following him out there) Listen, before you go on, I really must …

  Sam (craning out to his right) Is that Tower Bridge? Yes, Tower Bridge!

  Rosie … can I just say –?

  Sam (leaning out the other way) Look, you can even see the Dome, can’t you? This is just amazing. You’re so lucky!

  Rosie (forcefully) Would you please listen to me a minute! Please.

  Sam Sorry?

  Rosie I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong,

  Sam That’s not the Dome?

  Rosie No! Of course it’s the Dome. Don’t be so stupid. All I’m saying is, I’m – (She stops. She’s not yet fully recovered.) Sorry.

  Sam You alright?

  Rosie Of course I’m alright.

  Sam Have you been crying?

  Rosie Of course I haven’t. It’s nothing at all. It’s just I had a – (unable to contain herself any longer) – a bit of bad news –

  Sam (catching her arm as she totters) Hey! Hey! Hey! Come on! Sit down. Come on, sit down!

  He steers Rosie, now weeping openly, back into the room and sits her down.

  You say you’ve had bad news?

  Rosie Yes.

  Sam Do you want to talk about it? What’s happened? Have you recently lost someone?

  Rosie Just now … They just told me …

  Sam Oh, dear God …

  Rosie … he just phoned me …

  Sam … that’s terrible.

  Rosie I would have been perfect for her. I know I would …

  Sam Her? This was someone very close to you, was it?

  Rosie I was as close as that. It was between me and this other girl …

  Sam (understanding at last) I see, I see. Hell, I’m sorry. Believe me, you’re not unique. It happens to all of us, sooner or later.

  Rosie (recovering slightly) Does it?

  Sam (smiling) Believe it or not – even to me.

  Rosie Are you an actor, then?

  Sam A what?

  Rosie An actor?

  Sam No.

  Rosie (rather mystified) Oh.

  Sam I’m an investment consultant.

  Rosie Ah.

  Sam Can I get you something? A cup of tea? A brandy?

  Rosie (indicating her running nose) Do you have a –? I just need a …?

  Sam A tissue? Hang on. Where do you keep them?

  Rosie I’ve no idea.

  Sam I’ll have a look. (He goes into the kitchen and, finding no tissues, returns with the roll of paper towel. As he does this) If it’s any consolation – which of course it never is – I’ve just broken up a five-year relationship. I’m still getting over it. She went off with someone, too. Just walked out. I’m still getting over it …

  Rosie (not very interested) Oh, yes?

  Sam (tearing off a piece) Here. (He passes it to Rosie.)

  Rosie Thanks. (She blows her nose.)

  Sam I suppose, looking back, it was inevitable. She was sort of a childhood sweetheart, you know. Those things rarely work out long term, do they? I mean, we didn’t get together, not then. Not as kids. We met up again much later – well, nearly ten years later – quite by chance – she’d been working abroad – she was a doctor – and, I don’t know, it just seemed so right at the time. Us. We had the same sense of humour, the same interests. She was mad about opera, so was I. Well, most music really. And she was a fantastic tennis player. Far better than me. She could have turned professional. Only – medicine got in the way. But there’s still this huge hole in my life. Frankly, I don’t know if it will ever quite heal over. But you survive somehow, don’t you?

  Rosie Excuse me.

  Sam Mmm?

  Rosie I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why are you telling me all this?

  Sam I thought it might help.

  Rosie Help?

  Sam Just so you’d know you weren’t alone. We all go through it. It’s been the same for me, that’s all I’m saying.

  Rosie It’s not the same at all.

  Sam I’m sorry, I –

  Rosie You breaking up with your girlfriend is totally different …

  Sam Oh, come on … Don’t start that …

  Rosie It’s not the same thing at all …

  Sam I was only trying to be supportive, don’t jump down my throat …

  Rosie Listen …

  Sam It’s exactly the same. Some man walks off with my girlfriend, some woman walks off with your girlfriend. That’s the only difference. The pain’s the same. The hurt is just as real. That’s all I’m saying. We may be different – differently oriented, if you like – but we still belong to the same species. We’re both human beings, for God’s sake.

  Rosie I think you’re mad.

  Sam You want me to leave?

  Rosie Yes, please.

  Sam Right. (rising) I tried. That’s all, I tried. (indicating the kitchen roll) Do you want any more of this?

  Rosie No, thank you.

  Sam I’ll put it back.

  Sam, rather crestfallen, goes to the kitchen briefly. Rosie feels a bit guilty.

  Rosie Listen, I’m sorry, I … I’m sorry.

  Sam Look, if this appears rude, I apologise, but have you a
lways had this problem with your sexual identity?

  Rosie (outraged) What?

  Sam Because, frankly, in this day and age I think you’re a little sad.

  Rosie Do you? Do you now? Will you do me a favour? Just piss off.

  Sam Right. Don’t worry. I’m going. I just want to say this. I don’t care if you’re straight, I don’t care if you’re gay. To me, underneath we’re all just people, darling. Now, if you want to see yourselves as a race apart, that’s your problem and you can deal with it.

  Rosie (angrily) What the hell are you talking about? You’re completely and utterly howling. Go away!

  Sam (angry, too) I’m going! Don’t worry! I have better things to do with my life than stand here and be shouted at by narrow-minded lesbians.

  A silence.

  Rosie I beg your pardon.

  Sam Sorry. That was out of line. Sorry.

  Rosie You think I’m gay?

  Sam Aren’t you?

  Rosie No.

  Pause.

  Sam Shall I come in again?

  Rosie Why not?

  Sam steps back into the front doorway.

  Sam Hi! I’m Sam. Sam Berryman. Flat 3B. From next door.

  Rosie How do you do?

  Sam I know we haven’t met. I’ve been your neighbour for six months. (moving into the room) What a lovely flat. (at the open window) Oh, look at this view. Do you mind? Thank you. (He steps out, looking to his right.) Oh, look, Tower Bridge! Terrific! (looking to his left) Oh, look. The Dome! What’s that you said? It isn’t the Dome? Oh, I see. My mistake – I sense this is where it began to go wrong … For some reason you started crying. I’m sorry if it was anything I said. Maybe you were a major investor in the Dome. That would have done it.

  Rosie Would you just shut up a minute!

  Sam Certainly.

  Rosie I am an actor. My agent has just phoned me to tell me that the role of Jane Eyre in a new BBC1 classic serial – eight episodes – a role for which I am simply totally perfect in every respect and which they called me back to read for no less than five times – on every occasion like a dream – (increasingly angrily) and what’s more which they practically promised me, on the fifth occasion, was definitely mine – the bastards have now decided to give to a six-foot beanpole with bright red hair and a Northern Irish accent they’d have trouble understanding in Londonderry.

  Sam Oh, I see.

  Rosie (furious) As to my sexuality, that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with you and mind your own bloody business.

  A silence.

  Sam Well, I’m glad we sorted that out.

  Rosie (surprised by her own outburst) I’m sorry about your girlfriend.

  Sam Thanks.

  Rosie She just walked out on you?

  Sam Yes.

  Rosie For someone else?

  Sam Right.

  Rosie I’m sorry. (Slight pause.) You must have been a bit to blame.

  Sam What?

  Rosie It couldn’t have been all one-sided.

  Sam Well, it was.

  Rosie These things never are.

  Sam This was.

  Rosie You may see it that way. But that’s because it suits you to. You just haven’t asked yourself the right questions.

  Sam What right questions?

  Rosie Well – like – what was my part in this? What did I do wrong? Those sort of questions.

  Sam I don’t need to ask myself questions.

  Rosie Yes, you do. Something you did caused her to react. Made her feel unwanted, inadequate. I don’t know.

  Sam No, you don’t know. You don’t know anything about it. She couldn’t have been more wanted.

  Rosie You drove her away somehow …

  Sam (irritably) Why should it have been me, for God’s sake?

  Rosie Well, she must have had some reason. I mean, I’ve only been with you ten minutes and you’re already driving me crazy …

  Sam Oh, just take a jump in the river.

  Rosie (triumphant) There, you see!

  Sam Goodbye.

  Rosie Bye-bye!

  Sam marches to the door and stops. A silence. He pulls himself together.

  Sam Shall I try coming in again?

  Rosie I wouldn’t bother.

  Sam One more time. (He composes himself.) Hello. I’m Sam Berryman. You don’t know me. I’m your neighbour from next door. I have only just clapped eyes on you and I appreciate you are probably not feeling at your very best but I just have to tell you that you are probably the most beautiful and attractive woman I have ever seen in my life and more than anything else, whatever your sexual preferences, I would dearly love to have dinner with you tonight. Please.

  Rosie You are seriously deranged. Do you know that?

  Sam Possibly.

  Rosie Why on earth should I want to have dinner with you?

  Sam (shrugging) Hunger …?

  Rosie And everything else that that might entail?

  Sam Dinner. That’s all it entails. A little talk. Get to know each other better.

  Rosie I know everything I need to know about you. You’ve already told me in the first five minutes.

  Sam Oh, you’d be surprised. I have hidden depths.

  Rosie Really?

  Sam I have enormous plans for myself, you’d be amazed.

  Rosie In a restaurant?

  Sam If you like. Or we could eat at home.

  Rosie I can’t cook.

  Sam I can.

  Rosie One of your hidden depths?

  Sam One of them.

  Rosie Your place?

  Sam Mine’s a – bit of a mess. Since she left, I’ve rather let it … you know …

  Rosie I can imagine. How long’s she been gone?

  Sam Six years.

  Rosie My God!

  Sam Your place, then?

  Rosie My –?

  Sam I mean here?

  Rosie Here?

  Sam Yes.

  Rosie is silent. Weighing it up.

  Say no. By all means. If you don’t want to. I won’t mind. I’ll just go home, lie in the rubbish and cry myself to sleep. I’ll get over it in a year or two. And I won’t hold it against you, I promise.

  Rosie (after a pause) OK.

  Sam Here, then?

  Rosie Just dinner.

  Sam I’ll buy the food and cook it here. Any preferences?

  Rosie I eat most things.

  Sam Pasta?

  Rosie Fine. I’ll buy the wine.

  Sam Lovely.

  Rosie Any preferences?

  Sam I drink anything.

  Rosie See you later then. Sam.

  Sam Seven o’clock? Give me time to cook it?

  Rosie OK.

  Sam Oh, incidentally. Perhaps I should know your name.

  Rosie My name?

  Sam Yes. Something, you know, to call you. Unless it’s a secret?

  Rosie No. Joanna. Joanna Rupelford.

  Sam (looking at her somewhat strangely) Alright. See you later, then, Joanna. ’Bye.

  Rosie (softly) ’Bye.

  Sam leaves. The moment the door has closed, Rosie relaxes.

  Oh, my God! Joanna? What are you doing, Rosie? What the hell are you doing, girl?

  The lights fade to:

  Blackout.

  SCENE TWO

  The same. It is now around 6.30 p.m. Rosie is running slightly late. She enters dressed in a somewhat over-formal dress. It is still light outside. The occasional river party boat passes noisily.

  Rosie (not happy with herself) … this woman has the most extraordinary collection of clothes … twenty-seven pairs of tights and one bra … I don’t believe it … (studying herself) This is way over the top. I can’t wear this. He’ll think we’re going to the opera … Oh, look at the time … (She grabs her bag and finds her make-up case. She sits at the table and does some simple additions. As she does so) Hello, Joanna Rupelford … so pleased to meet you. No, we’ve been in Cannes, actually. Came back yesterday. No, private jet. R
eggie Heavily Bonking has one. Well, it’s his father’s, actually, Lord Bonking’s. But since Lady Bonking passed away, he very rarely uses it. Except for bonking. Yes … Yes …

  The doorbell rings.

  The bugger’s early. Oh, God. Typical. This is doomed. This whole evening is doomed. (calling) Just a minute! (Rosie hurriedly packs away her make-up and goes to answer the door. As she opens the door) You should know by now that it is fashionable to be five or – Oh.

  It is not who she expects. It is Edna, in her forties, pleasant and smiling.

  Edna I’m so sorry to bother you, dear. Mrs Hall?

  Rosie (startled) No.

  Edna Oh. Not Mrs Hall?

  Rosie No.

  Edna Sorry, dear. I must have the wrong flat.

  Rosie Afraid you have.

  Edna Oh. How very strange. (She tries to look past Rosie into the flat.)

  Rosie (awkwardly) Well …

  Edna I’m so sorry to have disturbed you, Miss – er –

  Rosie Rupelford. Joanna Rupelford.

  Edna (flashing Rosie another smile) Right, dear. Well, I’ll sort it out, don’t worry. ’Night.

  Rosie ’Night. (She closes the door.) God, I’ll have to change again. I can’t wear this, I feel like a call girl. (She starts to remove the dress as she hurries to the bedroom. As she does so) I can’t believe I’m doing this. All for a chance of sex. I can’t believe I’m doing it … Rosie, how can you have sunk so low …?