by Tracy Letts
(Little Charles weeps.)
Hey. Little Charles. Hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, now . . .
LITTLE CHARLES: Just . . . it’s just . . . you know, I know how things are. I know how they feel about me, and when, something like this . . . you want to be there for people, and—
CHARLIE:—shhhh—
LITTLE CHARLES:—I missed Uncle Bev’s funeral, and I know how they feel about me—
CHARLIE: Who, how who feels about you? Feels what about you?
LITTLE CHARLES: All of them. I know what they say.
CHARLIE: They don’t say things about you—
LITTLE CHARLES: I see how they are. I don’t blame them. I’m sorry I let you down, Dad.
CHARLIE: You haven’t let me down. You never let me down.
Now listen here . . . you’re wrong about these people, they love you. Some of them haven’t gotten a chance to see what I see: a fine man, very loving, with a lot to offer. Now take this . . . (Gives Little Charles a handkerchief) Give me my comb. Stand up straight. Look folks in the eye. And stop being so hard on yourself.
LITTLE CHARLES: I love you, Dad.
CHARLIE: Love you too, son.
(Charlie claps Little Charles on the back as they enter the living room.
Lights crossfade to the dining room as Barbara and Bill enter from the kitchen. Johnna occasionally interrupts as she moves between the kitchen and the dining room, setting the table with food.)
BILL: Jean doesn’t understand all this. You think she has any concept—?
BARBARA: Phantom of the Opera—
BILL: Do you remember what it was like to be fourteen?
BARBARA: She’s old enough to exhibit a little character. But then I guess that’s something you normally learn from your parents.
BILL: That’s a shot across my bow, right? I missed something.
BARBARA: Really? Instilling character: our burden, as parents.
BILL: I got that part.
BARBARA: And you really haven’t been much of a parent lately, so it’s tough to expect—
BILL: Just because you and I are struggling with this Gordian knot doesn’t make me any less of a—
BARBARA: Nice, “Gordian knot,” but her little fourteen-year-old self might view it differently, might consider it “abandonment”—
BILL: Oh, come on—
BARBARA: Maybe she views her father as “absent,” or maybe “not present,” or perhaps even “a son-of-a-bitch.”
BILL: Jean’s a little more sophisticated than that, don’t you think?
BARBARA: Pretty fucking sophisticated, the restored whatever from Phantom of the Opera, I know that makes your dick hard—
BILL: Barbara—
BARBARA: Precocious little shit—
ILL: I’m not defending her.
BARBARA (Voice rising): I’m not blaming her, because I don’t expect her to act any differently when her father is a selfish son-of-a-bitch! BILL (Voice rising): I’m on your side. How can we fight when I’m on your side? Barbara . . . Barbara, settle down!
BARBARA: Be a father! Help me!
BILL: I am her father, goddamn it!—
BARBARA: Her father in absentia, her father in name only!—
BILL: I have not forsook my responsibilities!—
BARBARA: It’s “forsaken,” big shot!
BILL: Actually, “forsook” is also an acceptable usage!—
BARBARA: Oh, “forsook” you and the horse you rode in on!
BILL: So we need to fight on your terms then: on topic one moment, and whimsical insults the next, all of it when it suits you—
BARBARA: We covered this around Year Three, Bill: that you’re the Master of Space and Time and I’m a spastic Pomeranian.
BILL: That’s not fair.
BARBARA: I’m sick of being fair! I’ve seen where being fair gets me! I’m sick of the whole notion of the enduring female. GROW UP! ’Cause while you’re going through your fifth puberty, the world is falling apart and I can’t handle it! More importantly, your kid can’t handle it!
BILL: Our kid is just trying to deal with this goddamn madhouse you’ve dragged her into.
BARBARA: This madhouse is my home.
BILL: Think about that statement for a second, why don’t you?
BARBARA: Jean is here with me because this is a family event.
BILL: Jean’s here with you because she’s a buffer between you and the shrill insanity of your mother.
BARBARA: Y’know, you’d have a lot more credibility if you had any credibility.
BILL: You can’t resist, can you?
BARBARA: You’re a pretty easy mark.
BILL: You’re so goddamn self-righteous, you know? You’re so—
BARBARA: Surely you must’ve known when you started porking Pippi Longstocking you were due for a little self-righteousness, just a smidgen of indignation on my part—
BILL: Maybe I split because of it.
BARBARA: Is this your confession, then, when you finally unload all—?
BILL: You’re thoughtful, Barbara, but you’re not open. You’re passionate, but you’re hard. You’re a good, decent, funny, wonderful woman, and I love you, but you’re a pain in the ass.
(Lights up on the entire house: Bill exits to the porch, gathers himself.
Karen and Steve reenter, run into Barbara in the sitting room.
Mattie Fae descends the stairs to the living room where Jean, Charlie and Little Charles watch TV.
Violet and Ivy reenter the second-floor landing.)
JOHNNA: Dinner’s ready.
STEVE: I told you, smoke a cigarette and the food comes— MATTIE FAE: Well, look who decided to show up. I’m sorry we woke you, sweetheart. IVY: I’m serious, if you say anything—
KAREN (To Barbara): When’s the last time someone mowed the yard around here? LITTLE CHARLES: Mom, I’m so sorry— VIOLET: You didn’t say I couldn’t tell people—
IVY: I’m telling you now.
BARBARA: Hm? MATTIE FAE: I’m sure you are— VIOLET: Why are you so worked up? You’re seeing someone, I think that’s great—
KAREN: I just showed Steve our old fort, have you been out there? CHARLIE: He’s here now and that’s all that matters.
BARBARA: No, I haven’t— MATTIE FAE: It’s really not all that matters— IVY: Don’t you dare—
STEVE: Barb, would you consider me uncouth if I removed my suit jacket? LITTLE CHARLES: The electricity must have gone out, I woke up and the clock— VIOLET: You’d think you might be happy to tell your family some good news, on a day like today?—
KAREN: Are you okay? MATTIE FAE: Don’t go through it all, Little Charles. There’s no need to go through all—
BARBARA: Yeah, I’m fine. IVY: It’s nobody’s business.
STEVE: Barbara, can I . . . ? VIOLET: Folks only want what’s best for you.
BARBARA: Yeah, sure. CHARLIE: Honey, the boy’s trying to tell you he’s sorry— IVY: It’s nobody’s business!
KAREN: Poor thing, you’ve had a long few days, haven’t you? MATTIE FAE: Stop making excuses for him, he’s thirty-seven years old— VIOLET: Why should I do you any favors?
STEVE: Sure she has. CHARLIE: Please let’s not have this argument now. IVY: Why not? Why wouldn’t you?
KAREN: I know how I get during these times, I think, “I couldn’t eat a bite,” but then you put a plate of hot food in front of me and suddenly I’m starving. VIOLET: You wouldn’t even try on my dress—
MATTIE FAE: I’m not arguing. IVY: I’m not bargaining with you!
LITTLE CHARLES: I know I let you down, Mom— VIOLET: You’re so melodramatic—
(A pause, as Barbara seems to take them in for the first time.) MATTIE FAE: What else is new? IVY: I’m going downstairs to eat now because you are impossible.
CHARLIE: You behave yourself, there’s more important things—
BARBARA: You’re right. Let’s eat. VIOLET (Sarcastic): I’m sorry to be so impossible, it’s been kind of a tough day—
(They cross from the kitchen into the dining room.) IVY: Tough on everybody, Mom.
CHARLIE: No, I’ll get it now.
MATTIE FAE: You let my casserole sit for an hour inside a hot car?—
CHARLIE: I’ll get it, I’ll get it—
LITTLE CHARLES: I’ll get it.
(Little Charles exits the house.)
(Ivy heads downstairs, enters the living room as Mattie Fae and Charlie join Barbara, Karen, Steve and Johnna in the dining room. They gradually take their seats. Bill reenters from the porch, crosses into the living room.)
KAREN: This just looks lovely. (To Johnna) Did you do all this? MATTIE FAE: What a pretty table! BILL: Jean. Time to eat.
JEAN: I don’t suppose it would be okay if I ate out here.
BILL: You suppose right.
IVY: Did I hear Little Charles?
JOHNNA: Mm-hm. BARBARA: She does it all, this one. BILL: Yeah, I think so—
STEVE: The chicken looks tasty, doesn’t it?— JEAN: You’re just gonna stick me at the kid’s table anyway.
BILL: I’m not in the mood for this right now, okay?
MATTIE FAE: Do we have enough seats? IVY: Is he—do you know where he is?
BILL: I think he went outside for something—
BARBARA: I think so . . . CHARLIE: Where do you want to sit? (Ivy exits to the front porch. Jean stomps toward the dining room. Bill stops her.)
MATTIE FAE: This’ll be fine, right here— Why are you giving me all this attitude?
KAREN: Sit by me, honey.
STEVE: Okie-doke. JEAN: I’m not.
BARBARA: Who gets stuck with Jean at the kid’s table? BILL: You do realize your mother needs you at your best right now.
MATTIE FAE: We’ll put Mr. Little Charles there. JEAN: Mom’s not the one crawling up my ass.
BILL: Never mind. Wash up for dinner.
CHARLIE: Are you serious? KAREN: Nooo, now— JEAN: “Wash up”? I’m not performing surgery.
MATTIE FAE: Who else is going to sit there? Do you want to sit there? (Jean and Bill enter the dining room.)
CHARLIE: He’s going to know you’re trying to punish him—JOHNNA: I can sit there, it’s okay.
MATTIE FAE: After you went to all the trouble of cooking this fabulous meal—?
JOHNNA: I don’t mind.
(As the family continues to settle in for the meal, lights shift again: up on the front porch. Ivy greets Little Charles as he returns with Mattie Fae’s casserole.)
IVY: Hey.
LITTLE CHARLES: Hi.
IVY: Are you okay?
LITTLE CHARLES: Not really.
IVY: They said you overslept.
LITTLE CHARLES: I don’t know, maybe I purposely accidentally overslept. I don’t know. I’m so sorry—
IVY: Please.
LITTLE CHARLES: I know you’ve had one of the worst days of your life and I’m just sorry if I made it any—
IVY: Stop. We don’t have to do that with each other.
(She embraces him, kisses him . . .)
LITTLE CHARLES: You’re breaking our rule.
IVY: They’re on to me.
LITTLE CHARLES: What?
IVY: Not us, just me. I told them I was seeing someone. I didn’t tell them who. I just wanted you to know, in case there were questions . . .
LITTLE CHARLES: All right . . . I mentioned New York to Mom. Only, you know, that I was considering a move.
IVY: She told me.
LITTLE CHARLES: She was typically approving, I bet . . .
IVY: But you know what? I think it helps, just letting them know, piece by piece.
(He stares at her.)
What?
(He stares, smiles.)
Charles . . .
LITTLE CHARLES: I adore you.
(Lights crossfade to the dining room. Seated around the table: Barbara, Bill, Mattie Fae, Charlie, Karen and Steve. Jean and Johnna sit at the kid’s table. The men have all removed their suit coats.)
MATTIE FAE: This food’s going to get cold.
BARBARA (Calling out): Mom?! Let’s eat.
CHARLIE: Will you pass the casserole, please?
MATTIE FAE: My casserole’s coming.
CHARLIE: I’ll eat some of yours, too—
BILL: Can I pour anyone some wine?
KAREN: Yes, please. STEVE: Sure, I’ll have some—
(Little Charles enters with Mattie Fae’s casserole.)
MATTIE FAE: There he is. I wanted to put you at the kid’s table, but they wouldn’t let me.
LITTLE CHARLES: That would’ve been okay. Where do you want this?
MATTIE FAE: Anywhere’s fine.
(Ad-lib greetings, hugs, handshakes, Karen’s introduction of Steve, etc. Ivy slips in and takes her seat.
Little Charles drops Mattie Fae’s casserole. It lands with a sickening “splat” on the dining room floor.)
LITTLE CHARLES: Oh Jesus!— BILL: Whoops.
MATTIE FAE: Goddamn it!— BARBARA: That’s too bad—
LITTLE CHARLES: Oh Jesus no!— STEVE: O-pah!
MATTIE FAE: You goofball! KAREN: Can it be saved?
(Johnna goes to the kitchen for paper towels, a wet rag, etc.)
MATTIE FAE: You goddamn clumsy goofball!
LITTLE CHARLES: Mom, I’m so sorry— CHARLIE: All right, all right, nobody’s hurt.
(Little Charles helps Johnna clean up the mess.)
MATTIE FAE: What about me? I’m hurt.
CHARLIE: You’re not hurt.
LITTLE CHARLES: Mom, Jesus, I’m sorry—
IVY: It’s just an accident.
MATTIE FAE: That’s my casserole!
CHARLIE: Let it go, Mattie Fae.
STEVE: It’s not a party until someone spills something.
CHARLIE: Jean, you didn’t get any chicken.
BARBARA: No, she won’t— JEAN: I don’t eat meat.
CHARLIE: You don’t eat meat.
STEVE: Good for you.
CHARLIE: “Don’t eat meat.” Okay. Who wants chicken? Here, Little Charles, get some chicken.
MATTIE FAE: Just put it on his plate for him or he’s liable to burn the house down.
CHARLIE: All right, Mattie Fae.
(Violet enters with the framed photograph of her and Beverly.)
VIOLET: Barb . . . will you put this—?
BARBARA: Yeah, sure . . .
(Barbara takes the photograph, places it on the sideboard.)
MATTIE FAE: That’s nice.
KAREN: That’s sweet.
STEVE: Very nice, yes.
IVY: The table’s lovely.
BARBARA: Johnna did it all.
JEAN: Yayyy, Johnna—
VIOLET: I see you gentlemen have all stripped down to your shirt fronts. I thought we were having a funeral dinner, not a cockfight.
(An awkward moment. The men glumly put their suit coats back on.)
(Taking her seat) Someone should probably say grace.
(All look to one another.)
Barbara? Will you . . . ?
BARBARA: No, I don’t think so.
VIOLET: Oh now, it’s no big—
BARBARA: Uncle Charlie should say grace. He’s the patriarch around here now.
CHARLIE: I am? Oh, I guess I am.
VIOLET: By default.
CHARLIE: Okay. (Clears his throat) Dear Lord . . .
(All bow their heads, clasp hands.)
We ask that you watch over this family in this sad time, O Lord . . . that you bless this good woman and keep her in your, in your . . . grace.
(A cell phone rings, playing the theme from Sanford and Son. Steve quickly digs through his pockets, finds the phone, checks the caller ID.)