Writing Game

by David Lodge

  Blackout.

  Act One Scene Seven.

  The same evening, a few minutes later.

  The barn. LEO is sitting or lying sulkily on his bed. JEREMY is talking to him through the open door of the bedroom. MAUDE is observing with a certain detachment from the armchair. She is sipping a glass of white wine – the bottle is open on the sink unit.

  JEREMY

  It was just a few of the older people … The others are dying to hear the rest of the story.

  LEO

  No way.

  JEREMY

  Maude! Do help me persuade Leo to go back.

  MAUDE

  Would that be a good idea?

  LEO comes angrily to the doorway of his room.

  LEO (to MAUDE)

  You approved of the walkout, then?

  MAUDE

  Of course not. But I did wonder whether that story was quite suitable for reading aloud to an audience that included a retired schoolmistress from Ilfracombe and a bank manager and his wife from Solihull … Some of our students have led rather sheltered lives, you see, Leo.

  LEO

  You can say that again.

  MAUDE

  Sodomising prostitutes with bars of soap may be all part of life’s rich tapestry for you, but to the English middle classes … If it happens, they would prefer not to hear about it.

  LEO

  Exactly! And that’s what’s wrong with the English novel. It’s middleclass, middlebrow and middleaged. It draws the curtains on reality and retreats into a cosy drawing-room where the most exciting thing that can happen is a menopausal widow having one drink too many.

  Pause. JEREMY looks nervously from LEO to MAUDE. MAUDE extends her empty glass to JEREMY.

  MAUDE

  Could I have another drink, Jeremy?

  JEREMY brings wine bottle to fill MAUDE’s glass and leaves bottle on coffee table.

  MAUDE

  Thank you.

  JEREMY

  I’d better go and tell the others the reading is over.

  Silence as JEREMY leaves, closing the door behind him.

  MAUDE

  I hope you’re not going to sulk. After all, we do expect the students to accept criticism.

  LEO

  That wasn’t criticism, it was a knee-jerk reaction by frightened little minds.

  MAUDE

  All right, let me give you some criticism, then. Let me try and articulate what they may have been reacting against. Not just the sex, but the sexism.

  LEO (groans)

  Oh, no!

  MAUDE

  Oh yes! It wasn’t just the elderly and infirm who walked out, you know. So did some of the younger women.

  LEO (with a trace of anxiety)

  Not Penny?

  MAUDE

  No, not Penny.

  LEO

  Look I’ve had feminist criticism up to here. Every feminist in America has been kicking my ass for the last two decades. There’s nothing you could tell me from that angle that I haven’t heard already.

  MAUDE

  Then why do you go on doing it?

  LEO

  Doing what?

  MAUDE

  Abusing and humiliating women in your fiction. ‘Ramming into them. Making them squeal.’

  LEO

  That was my character.

  MAUDE

  I thought everything one wrote came out of oneself, ultimately.

  Pause.

  LEO

  Look, all right, I admit that I’m fascinated by sex as a power struggle, a struggle for dominance, with violence at the heart of it, violence and tenderness strangely entwined. Maybe that’s a kind of source of imaginative energy for me, like the core of a nuclear reactor, white hot, deadly in itself, but a source of terrific energy if controlled, cooled. That’s what style is to me. A coolant. That’s why I write and rewrite and rewrite.

  MAUDE

  ‘Soap’ didn’t seem particularly cool to me.

  LEO

  You can’t judge a story by an extract.

  MAUDE

  You mean, Zimmerman becomes a reformed character in the end?

  LEO

  Yeah, he meets a radical feminist who convinces him he should cut off his balls.

  MAUDE

  I suppose he visits an extermination camp, Auschwitz or somewhere, and has a spiritual illumination.

  LEO, stunned, turns to face MAUDE.

  LEO

  How did you know that?

  MAUDE

  You mean I guessed right?

  LEO

  How?

  MAUDE

  Oh, you don’t need to be clairvoyant to work it out. Poland – Jews – soap …

  LEO (clutching at a straw)

  Penny told you!

  MAUDE (genuinely puzzled)

  Penny? How would she know? Oh! You mean you confided the ending to her last night?

  LEO, plainly shaken, goes into his bedroom and fetches his yellow ringbinder. He begins to leaf through his story.

  MAUDE

  She’s been burbling on all day about how inspiring her lesson was. That’s how she refers to it – her ‘lesson’. As if she were back at school. There’s something fundamentally immature about that young woman, don’t you think?

  MAUDE pours herself another drink, rather carelessly. She is just a little intoxicated. LEO continues to peruse his manuscript.

  LEO

  Penny’s all right. I tried to discourage her, but she came back fighting. I respect that.

  LEO sits down at the table and takes out a pencil from his pocket. He begins to make emendations to his manuscript.

  MAUDE

  You know, your speech is absolutely saturated with imagery of combat.

  LEO (preoccupied)

  Is it?

  Pause.

  MAUDE

  What are you doing? Rewriting your story?

  LEO

  Making some adjustments.

  MAUDE

  What kind of adjustments?

  LEO

  I think it should be raunchier.

  MAUDE laughs.

  MAUDE

  While you were reading about Mr Zimmerman and his lady of the night, I couldn’t help thinking of a scene in one of my own novels. Fine Lines. Have you read it, by any chance?

  LEO

  No, I don’t think so.

  MAUDE

  The heroine, she’s called Anna, discovers that her husband is having an affair with her best friend. She arranges to meet the best friend’s husband in a park one day to discuss the matter. There’s a violent rainstorm and they both get soaked. As the park is near Anna’s home, she invites Robin – that’s the name of the best friend’s husband – back to dry off. They’re both shivering with the cold and the wet, so the first thing they do is have a stiff brandy each. Then they decide that they should have a hot bath to avoid catching cold. But there’s only one bathroom in the house. Well, to cut a long story short, they end up having a bath together. She scrubs his back and he scrubs hers. They play with the children’s bath toys. They shampoo each other’s hair, and squirt each other with the shower nozzle. They have terrific fun. It’s like a return to childhood. They rub each other down with hot towels. Then they get dressed and Robin leaves. They don’t make love or anything. Yet it has been almost as good as making love for both of them.

  LEO

  Does Robin get an erection?

  MAUDE

  I don’t know. I didn’t say.

  LEO

  If Robin didn’t get an erection, he was either impotent or gay.

  MAUDE

  He was neither.

  LEO

  Then they would have made love. Your scene is phoney. You wrote it with your eyes shut.

  Pause, as MAUDE decides not to take offence.

  MAUDE

  It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the sex passages in men’s books are always terribly detailed in a clinical sort of way about the private parts, what they loo
k like and which bit goes where. Whereas with us, it’s all rather vague visually. There’s more emphasis on sensation, and emotion.

  LEO

  Most women, in my experience, don’t believe their cunts are beautiful.

  Beat. MAUDE is both shocked and aroused by this statement.

  LEO

  That’s why they keep their eyes shut when they write about sex.

  MAUDE

  I see. Well, now we know.

  Pause. MAUDE pours herself another glass of wine. LEO continues to work on his manuscript.

  MAUDE

  Have you ever, what’s the word, resorted to prostitutes?

  LEO (looks up)

  Why do you ask?

  MAUDE

  It’s none of my business, of course.

  LEO

  No, it isn’t.

  MAUDE

  But I’m just curious. The whole transaction is so unimaginable.

  LEO

  I should have thought it was pretty straightforward.

  LEO resumes work on his manuscript.

  MAUDE

  But it’s just about the most intimate thing you can do with another person, isn’t it? Taking off your clothes, lying down together, flesh to flesh. It must be extraordinary doing it with a total stranger, off the street.

  LEO

  The girl does it because she wants the money and the guy does it because he wants to get laid. A lot of marriages are based on the same principle.

  MAUDE

  But is there no caressing first – when you go with a prostitute, I mean? No love talk? No tenderness?

  LEO

  Sure. But you pay extra for that. (He looks up) So I’m told.

  LEO begins setting up his word processor.

  MAUDE

  Working late?

  LEO

  Maybe. Depends how it goes.

  MAUDE

  Well, I won’t distract you any longer. (Drains her glass and gets a little unsteadily to her feet) I wonder if it’s always just for money.

  LEO (distractedly)

  What?

  MAUDE (musingly)

  Prostitutes. I wonder if they don’t sometimes … enjoy it.

  The preoccupied LEO does not respond. He taps impatiently on the keyboard.

  LEO (to computer)

  Come on, come on! You can do better than that.

  MAUDE

  Well, goodnight.

  LEO

  Goodnight.

  MAUDE ascends the stairs, goes into her bedroom, takes off her clothes and puts on her dressing-gown. She comes downstairs again, carrying spongebag. Meanwhile, LEO takes off his jacket, and starts working on the revision of his story. MAUDE goes into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. The sound of a shower running, faintly at first, then gradually amplified, overwhelms the tapping of LEO’s keyboard. LEO, momentarily distracted, glances up, then returns to his work. Wisps of steam begin to escape from the bathroom door. LEO turns round slowly and looks in the direction of the bathroom. He gets up and moves hesitantly towards the bathroom door. The significance of its being left open hits him. He makes a gesture of exultation towards the heavens, and strides towards the bathroom. Just as he reaches the door the telephone rings twice. LEO stops, looks back at the telephone, gives a shrug, and turns back to enter the bathroom. The threshold is filled with diffused steamy light.

  Curtain.

  End of Act One.

  ACT TWO

  Act Two Scene One. The following afternoon.

  The barn. SIMON is standing beside the trestle table, reading LEO’s story in its yellow ringbinder, turning the leaves rapidly. A soft Italian leather overnight bag lies on the floor at his feet. SIMON is in his early thirties, dressed in loose, trendy, all-black cotton clothes, and has an expensively styled haircut. He is good-looking in a slightly Mephistophelian way. As he reads, he takes a sip from a glass of whisky on the table beside him. The telephone rings and stops after two rings. SIMON locates the answerphone and turns up the volume.

  HENRY’S VOICE

  … it’s an awful bore, Maude, but it looks as if Suki is pregnant. I’ve no idea who the father might be, have you? But, er, don’t worry. Everything is under control. Goodbye.

  There is an electronic beep signalling the end of the message. SIMON raises an eyebrow, shrugs, switches off monitor, and carries on reading. After a few moments he looks up and glances in the direction of the door as if he has heard something. He puts the ringbinder on the table, picks up his bag, and saunters to another part of the room. The outside door opens and MAUDE, wearing a light summer jacket or cardigan, comes in, taking off sunglasses as she does so.

  MAUDE

  Simon! You’re early.

  SIMON

  I decided to drive down. Steve Rimmer lent me his Porsche while he’s on tour in Japan.

  MAUDE offers her cheek to be kissed.

  MAUDE

  Nice to have friends so rich, and so trusting.

  SIMON

  Oh, Steve and I go back a long way. I used to cover his gigs when he had a heavy-metal band called The Pain Threshold. And before that we were at Cambridge together. How are you, anyway?

  MAUDE

  Fine, thanks.

  SIMON

  How’s the course going?

  MAUDE

  Well … you know Maurice is ill and Leo Rafkin has come in his place?

  SIMON

  Yes. I have an awful feeling I wrote something rather uncomplimentary about him once.

  MAUDE

  You did.

  SIMON

  Perhaps he’s forgotten.

  MAUDE

  He hasn’t.

  SIMON

  Ah. Oh well. How are you getting on with him?

  MAUDE goes to sink, fills kettle and switches it on.

  MAUDE

  It was difficult at first. I can’t say it’s been dull. Tea?

  SIMON

  Thanks. You know, originally Jeremy asked me to be the other tutor on this course.

  MAUDE

  Yes, I suggested it.

  SIMON (surprised)

  Did you?

  MAUDE

  Yes.

  SIMON (unsure how to interpret this information)

  I didn’t know. Otherwise I might have agreed.

  MAUDE (giving nothing away)

  What a pity.

  SIMON

  I did it once before, and vowed never again. So I settled for the visiting writer slot.

  The door opens abruptly, and LEO comes in, at first seeing only MAUDE.

  LEO

  Maude! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over – (He sees SIMON and stops. He looks displeased.)

  MAUDE

  Leo, I believe you’ve met Simon before.

  SIMON

  Once, ages ago. Michigan, wasn’t it?

  LEO

  Chicago. I promised myself the next time I met you, I’d punch you in the nose.

  SIMON

  Really? What did I do to deserve that?

  LEO

  You wrote a very offensive article about me, in a magazine.

  SIMON

  Did I? Most of my articles seem to offend somebody. I’m afraid I have a deep streak of offensiveness in me.

  LEO

  I’m not going to argue with that.

  SIMON

  Can I take it that you aren’t going to punch me on the nose, either?

  LEO goes across to the sink unit without answering.

  SIMON

  I would like to know. Otherwise I shall spend the rest of the day in suspense.

  LEO inspects the whisky bottle, which is almost empty.

  SIMON

  Yes, I did help myself to a drink. But don’t worry, I’ve got a full bottle of Johnnie Walker in the Porsche. (To MAUDE) It does a hundred and twenty without even trying. Six-speaker audio system. You’ve no idea how much better the Pet Shop Boys sound at a hundred and twenty miles per hour.

  MAUDE

  Wh
o are the Pet Shop Boys?

  SIMON

  Really, Maude! Haven’t your children educated you at all?

  MAUDE

  Henry won’t let them play their records on his hi-fi. They have to listen in their bedrooms.

  SIMON

  With the volume turned down so low you can’t hear any bass. I know, I know. By the way, have you got a pet called Suki?

  MAUDE

  No, an au pair girl. Why?

  SIMON

  Ah. Well, she’s pregnant.

  MAUDE

  What?

  SIMON

  Somebody just left a message on the answerphone to that effect. Your husband, I presume.

  MAUDE hastens to phone, and dials.

  SIMON (to LEO)

  How’s the course going, then?

  LEO

  It’s hard to tell when the students have no natural aptitude for it.

  SIMON

  Don’t be too sure about that. Some interesting writers have been started off by the Wheatcroft.

  LEO

  Who, for instance?

  SIMON

  Well, me for instance.

  MAUDE (re-dialling)

  I didn’t know you’d been a student here, Simon.

  SIMON

  Oh, yes. When I was eighteen. I wrote a complete novel in four days.

  LEO whirls round to stare at SIMON.

  MAUDE

  Simon! You dreadful liar! You’ve heard Jeremy tell that story and you’ve stolen it.

  SIMON

  No, it was me. I was truanting from school. Enrolled under a false name.

  MAUDE looks searchingly at him.

  MAUDE

  I just don’t know whether to believe you or not. You’re so horribly plausible.

  MAUDE puts the phone down.

  SIMON

  That’s why I’m a writer, no doubt. Couldn’t you get through?

  MAUDE

  No, engaged.

  SIMON

  Are you worried about this girl?

  MAUDE

  Well of course I’m worried. If she is pregnant. We’ve had a false alarm with an au pair before.

  SIMON

  I see.

  SIMON saunters over to the table on which LEO’s computer is set up and taps on the keyboard.

  SIMON (to MAUDE)

  Does this little gadget belong to you, Maude?

  MAUDE

  Good heavens, no. It’s Leo’s.

  LEO

  And I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t touch it.

  SIMON lifts his hands from the keyboard with an exaggerated gesture.

  SIMON

  Sorry! It wasn’t switched on.

  MAUDE

  Even so, you have to be careful with those things. One hears the most frightful stories of whole books being swallowed in a single gulp, because someone pressed the wrong key.