Goodnight Children Everywhere and Other Plays

by Richard Nelson

  GRANDMA (To Dolly): What is so important about Gimbel’s? Look at the mess we’ve left. We shouldn’t leave you with—

  SALLY: There is no mess. Please. Go. And have a wonderful time. I hear it’s a terrific show.

  GRANDMA (To Sally): You think I look sophisticated enough for a Broadway show?

  DOLLY: Good luck with the audition.

  SALLY: What???

  GRANDMA (To Dolly): I don’t want to look like I come from the boondocks.

  DOLLY: The singing audition. To get into that—

  SALLY: Oh right. Thanks! Bye!

  GRANDMA (To Dolly): You’d tell me if I didn’t look right. Your Grandfather wouldn’t, he’d let me—

  (Door closes. They are gone. Silence. Street noise. Sally does not know what to do with herself. She fiddles with the guitar, starts to play, stops. She takes the guitar into her bedroom. She returns and begins picking up the apartment. Outside the window she hears children playing. She goes into her bedroom and turns on the radio. Music plays. She returns to get her cigarettes. Hears the children and goes to the window to watch. As she sits on the sofa, Older Franny, still dressed as Grandma, enters and speaks to the audience:)

  OLDER FRANNY: I hadn’t heard Sally call after me; or I if had, it hadn’t registered as anything more than one more sound among the millions and millions of sounds which make up Sullivan Street.

  (Sally lies back on the sofa and curls up.)

  At the corner I waded into Bleecker, as one wades into any fast-moving river, cautiously, but with pleasure, and hurried—if you can be said to hurry when you are watching everything—toward the Riviera Café.

  (Sally has fallen asleep.)

  Our meeting spot. My boyfriend had sent me the address. I expected to find him waiting, impatient, with a “why-are-you-always-late” look upon his face. The kind that I could only wash away—with a kiss. But he wasn’t there, waiting for me. (Beat) I took a table outside and ordered coffee. I think it was the first time I ever ordered coffee in a restaurant. I watched the people go by. The couples. The attractive young men in their sleeveless summer shirts. I felt like you feel on a beach with the waves breaking across your ankles, legs, thighs, and then running away. That’s how the people outside the Riviera came and went. Like waves. I could sit here all day, I said to myself. (Beat) There was a phone booth on the corner and the first two times I tried my boyfriend, his line was busy. The third time he picked up. I’ve been waiting at the Riviera, I said. Did I get the time wrong? (Short pause) You see, he said in a rather—happy—voice, he’d met this girl, just the weekend before, and he really wished he could tell me in another way—I deserved that—and by the way, there’s lots of fun things I could do in New York by myself, did I want a list? And hey, would I like to meet his new girl, she’s real real nice, and the two of us would really really get along, and to this day I remember not so much what he said, but the smell in that phone booth, a mixture of stale cigarette smoke, some half-eaten thing that had sat in the sun too long, and urine. Anyway, I hung up on my boyfriend, and threw up in the booth. Now if a teenage girl throws up in a phone booth in the middle of Millbrook, half of the town would be there to find out what was wrong and to tell your parents. Suffice it to say that in New York, or at least Greenwich Village, people are more respectful of your privacy. At least that’s how I like to think of it.

  I went back to my table and paid for my three coffees. I felt a little faint and found the bathroom—a tiny, dirty room with a hook to lock the door. I sat on the toilet seat, rubbed a wet towel across my face and tried to stop crying.

  I think I did faint. But I guess I didn’t hurt myself when I fell. Someone shouted through the door to see if I was all right. I suppose they’d heard this thud or something or maybe just my sobbing.

  I left the Riviera intent on spending the rest of my one day in New York walking and seeing firsthand what I’d imagined a million times. But instead, I found myself walking the few blocks back to Sullivan Street, staring for who knows how long at the fire escape on the front of the building, which for all the world now looked like an insect climbing up, then walking up the three echoey flights of cold stairs, until I was back here.

  (Door opens, Franny comes in, her clothes messy, her eyes red from crying. She stands in the doorway.)

  Where I’d convinced myself I’d first change my tear- and vomit-stained clothes, but where I also knew, in my heart of hearts, I’d never leave for the rest of the day.

  (Sally does not stir. She is asleep on the couch. Franny now notices her.)

  I’d expected to find the apartment empty, which is why Sally’d given me my own key.

  (She sets the key on the table.)

  But it wasn’t. Sally was still there, still in her nightclothes, curled up on the sofa, asleep.

  (Franny hears music playing from a radio in the other room. She watches Sally for a moment.)

  What I didn’t know then, and wouldn’t know for years, was that Sally had had no intention of going out that day. Just as she’d had no intention of going out the day before or the day before that. Just as she’d no intention of ever leaving her apartment again.

  (She watches Sally.)

  And this is how she’d spent every day, since the death of her baby. (Beat) At the time though, I knew none of this. At the time, I thought only about how much I hurt. And how much I needed a bed to cry on.

  (Franny goes into the bedroom, closing the door.)

  SCENE 4

  Middle of the afternoon.

  The radio is still on in the bedroom, though a different song is heard. The street noise has a different quality—slower, easier than in the morning. Hallway door opens, Phil enters carrying a couple bags of groceries. (He does all the shopping, chores, etc., since Sally no longer leaves the apartment.)

  Sally is still asleep, curled up on the sofa. She stirs when he closes the door, but does not wake up. Phil takes the bags to the kitchen table and begins to unpack. Throughout the entire scene the music plays on the radio in the bedroom.

  SALLY (Waking up): What’s . . . ? (Sees Phil) What time is it?

  PHIL (Putting groceries away): About four in the afternoon.

  SALLY: Anyone . . .? (“else here”)

  (Phil shakes his head, then:)

  PHIL: I see you haven’t even gotten dressed.

  (Short pause.)

  SALLY (Smiling): Come here. Come here. Sit with me.

  (He ignores her.)

  PHIL (Unpacking): I got some nice chops for tonight. He trimmed the fat off for me. I’m getting good at this. Look at these. (Holds one up. She looks at the chop)

  (Finally): Have you even washed? Your grandmother’s here. Your cousins. What are you doing?!

  SALLY (Suddenly smiling, changing the subject): You want to hear something about my little cousin—?

  (He turns away.)

  I was going to my audition!

  PHIL: No you weren’t.

  SALLY: I was!! Don’t you talk to me like that, you creep! (Beat) I was going.

  (He unpacks. She smokes.)

  I don’t sleep at night. I fell asleep. I must look a mess. (Looks at him) You could say something. “No, honey, you don’t look a mess. You look sweet.” “I love it when you just wake up.” “I love that little girl look you have then, I—” I remember, Phil. Word for word. (Looks at him) He’s even stopped listening. (Big sigh. Then) What was I—? My little cousin, Franny. You know what she’s doing right now? Little Franny’s out fucking some boyfriend. That’s what all this was about. Her wanting to come down here. See a college? Lies. (Explaining) The stepmother up there—what’s her name?—found a letter. What the hell she was doing going through her stuff, I don’t know, but . . . Right now, in some crappy student apartment, she’s fucking him. Maybe even next door. (Pretends to listen) Shh. (Laughs)

  (The door to Franny’s bedroom has slowly opened a little. Neither Phil nor Sally notices.)

  PHIL: Let her fuck, so what? What’s wrong with that?


  SALLY (Suddenly): What’s wrong with fucking? I don’t know, Phil. You tell me.

  (She looks at him. She gets up and looks at him across the kitchen table. She leans, nearly exposes her breasts.)

  What is wrong with it?

  (She tries to touch him, but it is clear he can’t even touch her.)

  What else besides the chops are we having for dinner?

  PHIL: Mashed potatoes. String beans. I thought we’d go get Italian ices for dessert. The kids I thought would like that—

  SALLY: What kids? Have you heard a word I said? I wouldn’t call running off with— And she’s got tits like—bigger than mine. I suppose you like that. And she knows what she’s got too. (Beat) So do you think she’s attractive?

  PHIL: Sally, what are you talking about?

  SALLY: Is she the type you’d fuck?

  (No response.)

  You’ve got to be fucking someone, and it certainly isn’t me.

  PHIL: Don’t be pathetic.

  SALLY: A little late for that.

  (He tries to ignore her.)

  I should get dressed. After all, we have guests. (Beat) I was dreaming of our baby. That’s the dream you woke me from. (Trying to make a joke) You should apologize for that. (Then:) That’s why I woke up smiling. She was all right, you’d be happy to know. She was maybe three. She was running. And smiling. She could talk. I loved her little voice. When Dolly was three I used to babysit her, so maybe that’s why . . . The spark. (Beat) Anna running through the park. Or maybe it was in the country. Grandma says Dad would help us get the house. Back home. I told her—I’m going to be an actress. I am an actress! I need to live here. I need all the city has to—

  PHIL: So get out of the house.

  (This stops her, then she tries to stay calm.)

  SALLY: I will. (Heads to the bedroom, stops in the doorway) I’d expect you to be a little more—understanding. We all have our crutches . . . (Beat) Look at you, Phil. Sometimes I think we need to look at you. You used to say going to church was for your parents and other hypocrites and phonies. Remember saying that?

  PHIL: You’ve done this already, Sally.

  SALLY (Continuing): That you didn’t need that crap. Real thinking people saw through all—

  PHIL: I went once! I shouldn’t have told you.

  SALLY: But you did. (Forces a smile) And now who’s the hypocrite, Phil? Who’s the phony just like your parents? Who got on his little knees and prayed: “Oh dear God, help me! Help me! Take away these evil thoughts I have about doing harm to myself!”

  PHIL (Erupts): I shouldn’t have told you!!

  (Short pause.)

  SALLY: That—was a reaction. Thank you.

  (She goes into the bedroom. Phil takes out a beer and opens it. In the bedroom, Sally takes off her nightgown and puts on a skirt. She comes back out, straightening the skirt. She is naked from the waist up. She comes up to Phil, pretending to fix her skirt.)

  PHIL: Don’t walk around like that in front of the window.

  SALLY: Why? It’s our home. (Walks in front of the window) Actually, I seem to recall you saying something like that—to me. (Half to herself) “Sal, it’s our home. We can walk around any way we want.” (To him) I think this was right after your suggesting I take off all my clothes. (Teasing, trying to be seductive) “You mean, I don’t have to wear . . .?” And you put your finger to my lips, and whispered: “You’re home. You don’t have to wear anything.” (Beat) “You don’t have to wear that.” And you touched me. “Or that.” “That.” (Looks at him, smiling) Remember? And we didn’t close the shades either. (Goes up to him) And I said: “You don’t have to wear—”

  PHIL: Get dressed, Sally. You want your grandmother to come home and find you like this?

  SALLY: You mean, like I am? Like we are?

  (He turns away. Sally approaches him from behind. She presses up against his back. She rubs her breasts against him, trying desperately to interest him. She reaches around to try and hold him. He is shaking his head. Gently he pushes her hands away. She reaches down and tries to touch his groin, he pushes her harder away. And she erupts. Suddenly she starts hitting him on the head and back, while at the same time trying to press her breasts against him, as if two contradictory impulses were happening to her—her anger and her need. Neither says anything or makes a sound. Sally just continues to hit—Phil makes little effort to protect himself—and press herself on him, touch him, get him to touch her: a grotesque moment of self-abasement. The door to Franny’s bedroom suddenly closes. Phil and Sally stop when they hear the noise. Phil goes to the door and knocks. Nothing. As he reaches for the knob, the door opens—Franny is there.)

  (To Franny) What are you doing here?!! (Turns to Phil) Did you know she was—? (Covers her chest)

  PHIL: No.

  FRANNY: I was—writing in my journal . . . (Holds up her journal that she has been clutching)

  SALLY: How long have you been here?

  FRANNY: I just got in.

  (They stare at her.)

  I was writing. In my journal. I just started. Excuse me.

  SCENE 5

  Early evening. In the dark, Grandma’s voice calls out:

  GRANDMA: Franny! Dinner!

  (Franny opens the bedroom door. Grandma, Sally, Phil and Dolly are finishing setting the small kitchen table for dinner. They are talking as they finish up, taking their seats at the crowded table. Street noise from the window.)

  (To Sally) Your father’s even picked out one house.

  SALLY: Which one? Do I know it? (A glance at Phil)

  GRANDMA: On Chestnut. The white one with the gables?

  SALLY: What happened to the couple who—?

  GRANDMA: He’s retired. And the stairs are too much.

  SALLY (To Phil): Remember that house? I drove you by it—

  GRANDMA (At the same time): And they have a son in Baltimore, so they’re thinking—

  SALLY: How did Father know it’d—?

  GRANDMA: Did you ever talk to him about it?

  SALLY (To Phil): I didn’t. I swear. Anyway, we’re staying here.

  (Franny has slowly moved to the table.)

  FRANNY: Where am I supposed to—

  SALLY: Get a chair and push in. This isn’t formal. (Laughs to herself. To Franny) You didn’t hear us setting the table?

  FRANNY: I—

  (Everyone is digging in, passing the food, commenting: “Dig in.” “Looks great.” “These chops are so lean.” “Phil had them cut off the fat. He’s a good shopper,” etc., while Franny drags out a chair to the table and sits, squeezing in. Out of this innocuous table conversation comes:)

  SALLY: Phil was saying when we were making dinner— Tell them. (Reaches over and touches his hand)

  PHIL: About?

  SALLY (Smiles to everyone): Work today. Your guest.

  GRANDMA: What??

  PHIL: An important writer came to the office today. It’s a publishing office so how strange is that? (Laughs. No one else does)

  GRANDMA: Who was the writer?

  PHIL: I don’t think you’d—

  SALLY: Tell them.

  PHIL: Edmund Wilson. Do you know . . .? (No one does) He’s . . . fat. (Laughs) Mr. Farrar and Mr. Cudahy were showing him around. We had to almost stand at attention. The three of us in publicity. He won’t give interviews. He won’t promote his books at all. He even showed us a little card he hands out that says: “I won’t give interviews. I don’t give autographs. I don’t—whatever.” He seemed to think that was clever. (Beat) And I suppose maybe it is—to anyone except the someone whose job it is to promote his damn books. (Takes a bite of food) He’s a good writer though. Worth the trouble. That’s what I’m told.

  (Pause. They eat. No one is interested in Phil’s story, but he continues.)

  He’d sold his new book to another publishing house—Doubleday. So they were trying to woo him back. That’s what it was all about. I learned this . . . (Short pause) Anyone want to know any more abou
t it?

  (No response.)

  GRANDMA (Turns to Franny): How was your tour of the college?

  SALLY: Yes, let’s hear about that.

  GRANDMA: Did you like it?

  FRANNY: Sure.

  GRANDMA: You met up with your friend all right?

  (Sally looks at Franny.)

  FRANNY: I did.

  GRANDMA: She was helpful?

  FRANNY: She was.

  SALLY: Tell us what you liked most about the college.

  (Franny looks at the others, then:)

  FRANNY: The library’s neat. I liked that.

  SALLY: You liked the library. Spend much time in the library with your friend?

  FRANNY: Enough. But she has a lot of studying to do, so that’s why—as you both know—I came back early. (Takes a bite) So how was My Fair Lady? I haven’t heard a—

  GRANDMA: We’ve talked about that. Dolly will tell you later—

  SALLY: Tell her now. She should know just what a little conniving sister—

  PHIL: Stop it.

  SALLY (To Franny): Your sister planned, it appears, a little more than a trip to a show. They’re in Gimbel’s, she and Grandma and . . . (Turns to Grandma who says nothing) They’re looking at sweaters? It was sweaters, right?

  GRANDMA: Yes.

  SALLY: And suddenly Dolly looks at her watch. Oh my God, she says, let’s go to the perfume counter. Why? says Grandma. You want to look at sweaters, don’t you? But Dolly nearly drags Grandma to the perfume counter. The clock strikes twelve and guess who is waiting there?

  FRANNY: Mom.

  (Reaction from the others.)

  SALLY: She knew. She’s a part of this. (To Grandma) I told you this.

  FRANNY (Over this, to Dolly): Was she alone or did she—

  DOLLY: Alone.

  SALLY: She wouldn’t have the guts to bring him. Isn’t it enough to—

  And what’s Grandma supposed to do?

  GRANDMA: She was made up like a—

  DOLLY: She looked beautiful.

  FRANNY: I’m sure she did. How long were you with her at the perfume counter, Dolly?

  GRANDMA: A couple of minutes.

  FRANNY: Oh.

  SALLY: Then they had lunch.