MILA. It was acting.
MICHI. Don’t you mess me, did you have clothes off or clothes on?
Silence.
How much?
Silence.
All?
Silence. MICHI begins to puff in anger.
Well, beautiful. Isn’t it? Michi offers you good money to strip for clients who can appreciate, in a place which is meant for that, you spit on Michi with detest. That director pay you shit money in shit theatre in zone fifty-six, no one ever come to see and what kind of place is theatre to do strip and, somehow, you do it?!
MILA is unprepared. She looks at MARKO and ERIK for help.
ERIK (carelessly). He’s got a point.
MARKO. You’re being very supportive tonight, aren’t you?
ERIK. Which of the signals did she miss?!
MILA. Michi . . . I didn’t want to strip, I don’t want to do that. I thought, I don’t know what I thought, it all happened so fast.
ERIK. You thought you’d strip on the off chance that somehow miraculously it hits the mark and the right people miraculously happen to see it and it transfers to the West End you’re the talk of the town –
MILA. What?
MARKO. She stripped because they manipulated her to think it’s a skill.
ERIK. You took a risk, deal with it.
MILA is shaken.
MARKO. Maybe give her a few minutes to get over it? (To MILA.) Hey, you’ll be okay. It will be fine.
ERIK. It is fine. Your stripping was the best bit. I can’t remember when I had more fun in theatre.
MILA. Watching your girlfriend strip?
ERIK. Yeah!
MILA. You’re a sick man.
ERIK. I thought you would be pleased, someone as open-minded as you, to hear me say I don’t mind dating a stripper.
MILA. I am not a stripper!
MICHI. Stripper – stripper –
ERIK. So I’m saying hypothetically.
MILA. But you wouldn’t marry a stripper?
ERIK. What’s that got to do with it?
MILA. I think it’s amazing how men pretend to be free of prejudice before they actually start picking out someone to marry.
ERIK. I couldn’t give an answer to that.
MILA. Why not?
ERIK. Because nothing could be further from my mind than marriage.
Beat.
MICHI. Marry stripper, date stripper, blah, blah. One thing is sure – no stripper in here. I carry you like drop of water because you announce your tall standards like a trumpet. And then you turn around and stab me in back.
GAYLE walks in with a smile on her face but it doesn’t last long.
GAYLE. Hey.
She is barely acknowledged. ERIK looks at her and is hardly pleased to see her here. MARKO smiles, goes to greet her but his attention is clearly elsewhere.
MILA. You carry me ‘like a drop of water’?!
MARKO (to GAYLE). Hey.
GAYLE. What’s –
MARKO offers her a seat and starts pouring her a drink.
MARKO (trying to arbitrate). Mila, come down.
MILA. You must be joking!
MICHI. I do! Because I care about my people. I could get into lot of trouble for giving you work. You think I don’t know you? If you take this seriously, you could have good life here. But no, because you despise this. This is temporary stop before you are star. Wake up! This is real life and not your bubble-soap dream. On the top of that, I give you liberty to protest because I like you. People in your situation shut up and work. Bloody Balkan cheek!
MILA. I’m grateful for the risk you’re taking, but let’s not forget you pay me half of what a singer would make somewhere else!
MARKO. Mila, that’s enough.
MICHI. Maybe you want to try somewhere else then? Maybe you want to try pick some cockle?
Beat. MICHI’s phone rings.
No, I don’t think so. I should know better from first day. You can smell scabby donkey across seven hills. (Into the phone.) Roman, my friend, what can I do for you?
He goes. MILA is on the verge of crying. She looks at ERIK, expecting support.
ERIK. You hurt the man.
MARKO observes ERIK and is getting increasingly annoyed. ERIK is clearly provoking them.
MILA (to GAYLE). Hey, Gayle.
GAYLE. Hey. Hi. How did –
But MILA cuts her off, turning to ERIK, her tone really pissed off.
MILA. And what is your problem?
ERIK. My problem?
MILA. Yeah. Did I do something to you?
ERIK. I don’t know what you mean.
MILA. I mean, you’re acting like a jerk.
ERIK. Thanks.
Silence. ERIK’s expression changes. His face is dark. MILA looks anxious as if waiting for a verdict.
MILA. Okay, I’m sorry.
ERIK. I’m tired.
ERIK gets up, puts some money on the counter.
MARKO. Keep it.
ERIK ignores him and pushes the money closer to MARKO.
I said, keep it.
MILA. I said I was sorry.
MARKO. Why are you sorry?!
MILA. Marko, come on . . .
MARKO (to ERIK). Can you at least pretend to be kind, for one night?
Startled by MARKO’s forcefulness, everyone looks at him, speechless.
Can’t you see she could use some understanding?
ERIK. I thought, with so much coming from you, she might overdose.
MARKO. Fuck you!
MILA. Don’t . . .
MARKO. Don’t what? Arrogant bastard who treats you like shit –
ERIK laughs. GAYLE takes a shot at pacifying MARKO.
GAYLE. Hey, maybe we should –
MARKO. What is funny?
ERIK looks at each of them, as if giving himself time to drop the subject. GAYLE terrified, MILA puzzled, MARKO fuming. But what the hell . . .
ERIK. You, your moral highness. You are funny.
A tense moment.
Your capacity to pass judgment is extraordinary considering you got here cashing in on your dad’s favours and now you work for this Balkan Mafioso and get generously tipped by half of the Eastern European mafia.
MARKO and MILA are quite unprepared for this. They’re both about to speak, but ERIK got himself going.
MILA. They are not criminals!
ERIK. What are they?
MILA. . . . Okay, they are. But, you don’t understand how things are where we come from. It’s not that simple.
ERIK. Either they break the law or they don’t. Which is it?
MILA. Well, I suppose then, yes, but . . .
ERIK. But somehow, that is okay. That we can turn a blind eye to. You spread around the world with that ridiculous cult of honour and reputation! And I’m arrogant!
MARKO. Look, man, you’ve obviously got issues with Balkan and stuff. Which, you know, we all understand.
ERIK. You don’t wanna patronise me.
MARKO. You threatening me?
ERIK (to MILA). And you’ve been to more fetish clubs than you can count –
MARKO. With you!
ERIK. With me. But she liked it. And now suddenly her purity is bruised.
MILA is taking all of this in, sensing there is something about ERIK that’s much more destructive than usual.
MILA. Erik, what the hell’s going on?
ERIK. Do you even know why she’s living with you? Do you know it makes her feel defiant and fucking controversial? A nice Croatian girl shacking up with a Serbian boy? What would they say to that back home? (To GAYLE.) My God, you must feel like an outsider. (To MILA.) And she doesn’t even know that she hit the jackpot!
MARKO and MILA stare at ERIK. They have no idea where this is going.
Night shifts, I told you, fascinating stuff comes out when you look into the right places.
MILA. What are you talking about?
ERIK (to MARKO). Were you ever going to tell her what your daddy does?
/>
MARKO stares at him in disbelief.
MILA. What?
ERIK. You know, his dad, big-shot commie. Sad thing with those guys . . . Times change, there’s a war, there’s democracy. Once they were top of the world, now they’re just forgotten old wrecks.
MARKO’s face is stern and grim. He knows what’s coming, and knows there’s no way out.
Tragic, really. The way myths crumble and the living corpses are left behind.
MILA. We know that.
ERIK. No, we don’t. We don’t know that. We believe that, because that’s what he tells us. What he doesn’t tell us is that there is another option. When there’s a war, you see, there are people who volunteer.
MILA. Wh . . . I don’t understand.
ERIK. And they do what they have to do. In a war. When the war’s over, they don’t sit around in pyjamas waiting for PTSD to kick in. No. They embrace transition, privatising, wheeling and dealing. They end up owning an insurance company. They make a fortune, insuring, by and large, former war-buddies, now fellow-businessmen. They wear expensive suits and drive an Audi but what they don’t do is talk about raping women or gutting old men because, well, that would just be in poor taste. (Pause.) And they have a son who can mix cocktails. Because they own a bloody cocktail bar on a beach!
MILA looks at MARKO hopefully. GAYLE too. MARKO is silent. ERIK looks worn out. He is not really sure why he did this, tension relief maybe, but not much relief has come out of it. MICHI has come back in and is trying to make sense of the situation.
MILA. Marko . . .
MICHI. What, is this a funeral?
MARKO (to MILA). That has nothing to do with me. That’s my dad. More or less. That is why I left. I can’t . . . (He shrugs, defeated.)
MICHI. Ah, the truth. Fancy that.
GAYLE. Marko . . .
ERIK. Did you think it would never come out?
MARKO pauses for a second, he bites his lip as if trying to prevent the words from coming out, then:
MARKO. Did you think Tiasha would never come out?
GAYLE (panicking). Marko, don’t.
MILA. What – who?
ERIK looks at MARKO in terror. Then he resigns. That is, in fact, where he was aiming to end up.
ERIK. So. You know.
MILA. Know what?
MARKO looks at GAYLE who is staring at him, horrified. He looks at her with remorse, but is not turning back now.
Know what?!
Pause. Massive tension. ERIK sits down on the first available chair, or the floor even.
ERIK begins to cry.
Who the fuck is Tiasha?
Darkness.
Music.
Scene Ten
Snapshots.
A street. The wind. Yellow lights. GAYLE intercepts ERIK.
GAYLE. I shouldn’t have told him. I’m sorry.
ERIK. You’re not sworn to secrecy to me.
GAYLE. I’m not like that.
ERIK waves his hand as if to say it didn’t matter. He makes to leave.
You can’t leave her.
ERIK. I can’t help her.
Pause.
GAYLE. I should have known. I should have know that you’d be like that . . .
She breaks. She cries. ERIK can’t believe there’s more.
ERIK. Look . . .
GAYLE. I should have known he’d use me to help Mila.
ERIK. Serbs can’t be trusted. Apparently. Says Mila. I don’t think she means Marko, though.
GAYLE. Nor can Norwegians.
ERIK. I’m sure she would agree with you. Look, he’s just weak.
GAYLE. How is that an excuse?
ERIK. It’s not. Then again, if people weren’t weak, there wouldn’t be half as much fun in the world.
*
MICHI. So, you blow it.
MARKO. I didn’t mean it.
MICHI. Way to hell is paved with good intentions. Women – always trouble. You better come work with Michi. I have half the capital so far.
MARKO. She’ll never forgive me.
MICHI. Which one?
*
ERIK. Look . . . I’m not much of a bargain. She’ll be better off without me.
GAYLE. You’re a coward.
GAYLE disappears into the dark.
*
TIASHA. My grandfather told me a story when I was little. It is about Bird King. Bird King lived in our country many centuries ago. People were working hard but country was poor and people were weak. They would come home in the night and weep. The Bird King was sorry. He spoke to Yanesh, the smartest of the people, and he said: I can help you. I can divide your life into life of body and life of heart. If body and heart have separate lives, then body can work hard and not feel grief. Yanesh said: But what will happen to the heart? The heart, said the Bird King, you give to somebody who is dear to you to keep. Until you have done your work, sowed and reaped and picked and plucked and plant and plowed. But what about those who have not yet found anyone so dear. The Bird King said, I will keep their hearts until they do. And so it was. The people worked much better with their hearts in safekeeping and the country was becoming richer and more food was put on the table. And everybody was happy.
*
MICHI’s bar lights up. MARTA is sweeping the floor. ERIK is carrying a suitcase.
MARTA. Nobody here. Nobody here at this time.
ERIK. Oh, right.
MARTA. You don’t know that?
ERIK. I thought maybe . . . (Pause.) My God, this is a dump.
MARTA. You don’t know dumps.
ERIK. Actually, I do.
MARTA. Oh, yes. You die in Bosna.
ERIK. You know about that?
MARTA. I think everybody know.
ERIK. I suppose it’s a good story.
MARTA. My husband die in Bosna. (Pause.) But he stay dead.
ERIK. I’m sorry.
MARTA. No why. He was rubbish. But still, much larger rubbish still living.
ERIK. True.
MARTA. You run away?
ERIK. I need a break.
MARTA. You afraid . . .
ERIK. I’m not afraid. Nothing can happen that hasn’t happened before.
MARTA. To stay, I mean. Run away always hurt someone.
ERIK. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes people do things, bad things because . . . For all kinds of reasons that can’t be helped.
MARTA. People do bad things because they can.
Pause.
ERIK. I have to get going. Tell Michi I said hi and see you in a while.
MARTA. You take care. You are not cat with nine life.
Music.
Sound of rain.
Scene Eleven
A restaurant.
A tiny table with a white tablecloth. A lean tall vase with a single red flower.
TIASHA and MILA are sitting at the table. TIASHA is calm and MILA visibly nervous.
MILA. We haven’t really been introduced.
MILA extends her hand. TIASHA takes it. Their handshake across the table is almost grotesque.
Mila.
TIASHA. Tiasha.
Pause. MILA watches TIASHA as if she were inspecting her for some rare signs of difference, something visible that distinguishes her from all the women in the world. She has a full awareness of both their bodies and the space between them. TIASHA seems perfectly careless. It’s not that she feels comfortable in this place where she does not, at all, belong. It’s simply that to her it’s no more than a stop on the way, therefore has nothing frightening about it.
MILA. Did you have trouble finding this place?
TIASHA. No. Gayle gave me A-Z. I walk and find everything.
MILA. You walked?
TIASHA. Yes.
MILA. People don’t walk in London.
TIASHA. Why not?
MILA. Because they don’t have time.
TIASHA. I have plenty.
MILA. So you do. (Pause.) But you shouldn’t walk at night. It’s dangerou
s. People get mugged, or raped even . . . (Stops. Realises who she is talking to. Pause.)I . . . Would you like to order?
TIASHA. I’m not really hungry.
MILA. Yes. All right. Just drinks then.
TIASHA. Yes.
MILA. Just as well. Never can fit the plates properly on these tables. I never could understand, why is it so hard to put proper-sized tables in restaurants. Extra large prices – no problem! But even a medium-sized table that is too much to ask. You know, I’ve been to quite a few restaurants, and I’ve left a shit load of money there and I haven’t once, not once, sat at a proper-sized table where the person next to me is not breathing down my neck!
Pause. TIASHA is not responding.
He is gone, you do know that?
TIASHA. Yes.
MILA. And . . . Look, it’s nice of you to come. I mean, I know you didn’t have to. I mean, I always thought, it’s not the other woman that a woman should have a problem with. It’s the man, isn’t it? But what do you do when the man vanishes? And I’m not even sure which one of us is the other woman.
TIASHA listens to MILA carefully, with full attention, but one can’t see any distinct reaction on her face.
So frustrating, none of the standard explanations apply because he’s so . . . And you’re so . . . (Stops. She struggles to find words. She gives up.)Has he been in touch with you?
TIASHA. No.
MILA. Are you . . . What have you . . . Why are you here?
TIASHA. Sorry?
MILA. No, I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand. Everything was fine and then you showed up and everything seems to have gone to hell.
TIASHA. I’m sorry.
MILA. Oh, God, I hate the past. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Nothing good ever comes from it. Just bad memories and demons.
Pause.
TIASHA. I think I don’t know what you want to know.
MILA. I want to know what it was like between you two. Is it because you were with him when he got shot that he’s still so affected by you, and do you want him for the papers and –
TIASHA. I got papers.
MILA. What?
TIASHA. My papers are all right. They came. I can stay.
MILA. You can stay?!
TIASHA. Yes.
MILA. So soon? It’s been like six months!
TIASHA shrugs.
Pause.
MILA is distraught: ‘How does one get through to this woman?!’
TIASHA. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what is happened to him. I think this city is not very good for people. He can’t look me in the eyes. I thought perhaps it is something he is ashamed of. I thought, he doesn’t need to be ashamed of anything, I don’t mind whatever he is done. But then I see, nobody looks anybody in the eyes. Is everyone here ashamed? I don’t want him for the papers. It’s other way around. I want papers to be with him.
Fragile! (NHB Modern Plays) Page 6