by Paula Vogel
BIANCA (Anger finally conquering fear): You can call me wot you like, but Aw’m no liar! Aw’m as ’onest a woman as yerself! And wot’s more, mebbe you can wipe yer trotters on women who have to crack their crusts by rolling blokes in Venice, but ’ere it’s differnt.—Aw have a place ’ere and Aw’m not ashamed t’own it. Aw’m nice to the wives in town, and the wives in town are rather nice to me. Aw’m doin’ them favors by puttin’ up wif their screwy owld men, and Aw like me job! The only ponk Aw has to clean up is me own.
(Starts to leave, but) And wot’s more, Aw likes yer lady, whefer you think so or not. She can see me as Aw am, and not arsk for bowin’ and scrapin’. She don’t have to be nobby, ’cause she’s got breedin’, and she don’t mind liking me for me own self—wifout th’ nobby airs of yer Venetian washerwomen! Aw’m at home ’ere in my place—you, you Venetian washerdonna, you’re the one out o’ yer element!
(Bianca stalks to the door, but before she can reach it, Desdemona enters.)
DESDEMONA: Emilia.
14.
The same. Desdemona, Emilia and Bianca.
DESDEMONA: Emilia. I thought I told you to tell me the instant Miss Bianca arrived. Well?
EMILIA: I didn’t want to be botherin’ m’lady with the Ambassador—
DESDEMONA: I want none of your excuses for your rudeness to our guest. My dear Bianca! I’ve been waiting impatiently—I could have just died of boredom.
(Bestows a warm hug on Bianca)
May I kiss you?
(Desdemona “kisses” Bianca by pressing both sides of their cheeks together.)
BIANCA (Stammering): Aw’m not worthy of it, m’lady—
DESDEMONA: Oh, Bianca, so stiff and formal!—What have I done that you should be so angry with me?
BIANCA (Quickly): Nofing! Your lady’s been all kindness to me… but mayhap…Aw’m not the sort o’ mate for one o’ your company!
DESDEMONA: Nonsense! I’ll decide my own friendships…
(Desdemona looks meaningfully at Emilia.)
DESDEMONA (To Bianca): You must excuse my entertaining you in such a crude barn of a room; my room’s much cozier, but I don’t know when my…my…”smug”—is that right? (Bianca nods)—When he’ll return. (Laughs)
Right now Othello’s out in the night somewhere playing Roman Orator to his troops.
(Desdemona guides Bianca to the table; they sit side by side) Emilia…Ask Miss Bianca if she’d like some wine. (To Bianca) It’s really quite good, my dear.
(Emilia glumly approaches Bianca.)
EMILIA: Well, are you wantin’ any?
DESDEMONA: Emilia! “Would you care for some wine, Miss Bianca?”
EMILIA (Deep breath; red): “Would you care for some wine, Miss Bianca?”
BIANCA: Why thank you—D-Desdemona, Aw could do w’ a sneaker—
DESDEMONA (Laughs): How I love the way you talk!…Emilia, fetch the wine and two goblets. That will be all.
EMILIA: Yes, mum.
(Emilia exits and Bianca relaxes.)
DESDEMONA: My poor Bianca; has Emilia been berating you?
BIANCA: Well, Aw don’t know about that, but she’s been takin’ me down a bit. Aw don’t thinks she likes me very much.
DESDEMONA: Oh, what does that matter! Why should you want her friendship? You don’t have to care what anyone thinks about you—you’re a totally free woman, able to snap your fingers in anyone’s face!
BIANCA: Yea, that’s wot all right—but still, Aw likes people to like me.
DESDEMONA: Oh, well, you mustn’t mind Emilia. She’s got a rotten temper because her husband—her “smug”—is such a rotter. Oh, Iago! (Shudders) Do you know him?
BIANCA (Smiling, looking away): Aw know ’im by sight—
DESDEMONA: You know the one, then—the greasy little man. He’s been spilling his vinegar into her for fourteen years of marriage, until he’s corroded her womb from the inside out. And every day she becomes more and more hallowed out, just—just a vessel of vinegar herself.
BIANCA (Disturbed): Wot a funny way of lookin’ at it—
(Bianca is bewildered.)
15.
Bianca and Desdemona.
BIANCA: So you don’t fancy Iago, then, do you?
DESDEMONA: Detest him. But of course, I don’t have anything to do with him—I only need suffer his wife’s company. Poor old Mealy—
BIANCA: “Mealy?”
(Bianca laughs, her fear of Emilia diminishing.)
DESDEMONA: Yes, I’ve nicknamed her that, because I suspect it annoys her. Still, it fits.
(Desdemona and Bianca giggle.)
DESDEMONA: Alas, when Othello and I eloped it was on such short notice, and my husband’s so stingy with salary that the only maid I could bring was my father’s scullery maid.
BIANCA: Yer scullery maid! Not…not yer—wot-de-ye-call-it—“Fee dah—Feyah der—”
DESDEMONA: “Fille de chambre!” Heavens, no! I keep her in line with the prospect of eventual advancement, but she’s much too unsuitable for that—why she doesn’t speak a word of French, and she’s crabby to boot. Still, she’s devoted and that makes up for all the rest.
BIANCA: Wot makes you fink she’s devoted?
DESDEMONA: Ah, a good mistress knows the secret thoughts of her maids. She’s devoted.
BIANCA: Well, it’s a cooshy enough way to crack a crust…
DESDEMONA: Crack a crust?
BIANCA: Oh, beg yer pardon; Aw mean t’earn a livin’—
DESDEMONA (Enthralled): “Crack a crust!” How clever you are, Bianca!
16.
Desdemona, Bianca and Emilia. Emilia stands before Desdemona, bearing a pitcher and two mugs on a tray.
EMILIA: Wine, m’lady…
DESDEMONA: Ah, excellent.
(Emilia serves Desdemona first with all the grace she can muster; then she negligently pushes the wine in the direction of Bianca.)
BIANCA: Thank you, Mealy.
DESDEMONA (Toasting Bianca): Now, then: To our friendship!
BIANCA: T’ yer ’ealth—
(Desdemona delicately sips her wine, as Bianca belts it down so that the wine trickles from the corner of her mouth. Emilia is aghast. As Bianca wipes her mouth with her hand, she notices Emilia’s shock.)
BIANCA (Blurts): ’Scuse me guttlin’ it down me gob—
DESDEMONA: Oh, tush, Bianca. Mealy, haven’t you mending to carry on with?
(Emilia silently seats herself apart and picks up the drawers.)
DESDEMONA: I tell you, Bianca, it’s a disgrace. My husband refuses to buy new linen for his drawers, so Emilia must constantly mend the old.
(Confidentially) He’s constantly tearing his crotch hole somehow.
BIANCA (Amused): And how does that happen?
DESDEMONA (Demurely): I have no idea.—More wine, dear?
17.
The same. Bianca and Desdemona, drinking. Emilia sews.
DESDEMONA: How about another…round?
BIANCA: All right, then.
(Desdemona pours generously) But not so much! Aw could get lushy easy.
(Bianca sips her wine; Desdemona knocks it back, and wipes her mouth with her hand. They laugh.)
18.
Desdemona and Bianca, drinking. They are giggling helplessly, spluttering. Emilia sews. Desdemona starts to choke on her wine from laughing.
19.
The same. Desdemona and Bianca try to control themselves. Then Desdemona holds up the hoof-pick, and Bianca and Desdemona explode in raucous laughter. Emilia is furious.
20.
The same.
BIANCA: Listen, luvs, where’s yer five-minute lodging?
DESDEMONA: My…what?
BIANCA: Yer Drury Lane? Yer—where’s yer bleedin’ crapper!
Yew know—where do yew make water?
EMILIA: M’lady makes her water in a hand-painted Limoges pot, a holy sight with angels havin’ a grand time—it’s not for the like of you!
DESDEMONA: There’s
an outhouse in the back by the shed…careful of the muck and the pigs.
BIANCA: Ta. Be back in a few…Aw’ve got t’ go see a bloke about a horse.
(Bianca exits.)
EMILIA: And you’re after havin’ yourself a proper time.
DESDEMONA: Oh, Mealy, I’m sorry—we were just having fun—
EMILIA: At my husband’s expense. You finagled that out o’ me, and then you went and told it to My Lady of the Public Square…
DESDEMONA: It…It just…slipped out.
(Goes into another gale of laughter; then) Mealy, I’m going to ask her about Cassio!
EMILIA: Why must you be knowin’ every man’s size?!
(Desdemona laughs again.)
DESDEMONA: No, I mean I’m going to tell her that Othello suspects him.
EMILIA: Are you daft from the wine?
DESDEMONA: Why not? Maybe we can get to the bottom of this…
EMILIA: Why is it mattering? Tomorrow morning we’re leaving with the Ambassador—
DESDEMONA: Yes, yes, but I can find out why—
EMILIA: I don’t understand why m’lady is in such a rush to havin’ her throat slashed our last night on Cyprus—
DESDEMONA: Look, I’ll just tell her that my husband is under some false impression, and ask her for—
EMILIA: And why should she be believin’ you?
DESDEMONA: She’ll believe me! She’ll believe me because…I’ll give her…I’ll give her…my word of honor.
EMILIA: And just how much goat cheese does that buy at market?—I know the world! I’ve seen flesh buckets fightin’ for their fancy men in the streets in Venice, and a pretty sight it was!
DESDEMONA: Oh, Mealy—
EMILIA: You’ll be bleedin’ on the wrong time of the month! Those trullies, all of them, carry slashers down in their boots—
(Bianca throws open the door and sticks her head in; Emilia and Desdemona are startled.)
BIANCA: Did-jew miss me?
21.
Bianca, Desdemona and Emilia.
BIANCA: ’Ere now—let me settle w’ you fer Tuesday night. Let’s see… (Rummages in a pocket of her dress) It were six pence a john, at ten johns makes fer…five bob, an’ tuppence fer tips.
(Emilia gasps.)
DESDEMONA: I can hear what you’re thinking Mealy—Holy Mother, I made more in twenty minutes than you do in a week of washing!
EMILIA: Five bob…
DESDEMONA: How large now the world for so small a vice, eh, Mealy?
EMILIA: I’m…I’m not to be tempted, Miss Desdemona.
DESDEMONA: Brave girl!
BIANCA: ’Ere’s the brass ready. Tuppence for tips is bleedin’ well for a Tuesday.
DESDEMONA: Really?
BIANCA: It so be as how Wednesday is payday ’ere; Tuesday nights are the cooshiest layin’, but the stingiest payin’—
EMILIA: Aye, “Men earns their money like Horses and spends it like Asses…”
DESDEMONA: Never mind Mealy, Bianca; she’s over there calculating what price fidelity. Now about next week—
EMILIA: You two can cackle with laughter at me if you like, but it’s a duty for me to stop your ladyship from gettin’ into danger—
BIANCA (Offended): Danger! Wot danger! She helped me out on me Adam an’ Eve Night—there’s no danger. Aw gave her me lambs; the feisty, firkin’ lads come on th’ other nights, not on Tuesday. It don’t take no elbow grease; Tuesday’s just lying back and Adam an’ Evein’ it—
EMILIA: I don’t understand your “Adam and Eve” and I don’t think I want to…
DESDEMONA: Oh yes you do, Mealy; “Adam and Eve” is what you and Iago did on your wedding night…
BIANCA: She just might fink it means fallin’ asleep—
(Emilia vigorously stitches the linen.)
DESDEMONA: She’s right, though, Bianca, she’s only trying to protect me.—How about if we leave next Tuesday night open. If I can sneak away into the darkness of your boudoir, then I’ll send word by Emilia—
BIANCA: Right, then, but you understand me, Miss Desdemona, there’ll be no firsky johns when you comes clan-decently; just the meek ones who are low on pocket-brass, or the stingy-mingy-gits who don’t want to pay for nothin’ wild. An’ there’ll be a fresh bed, an’ the room so dark that your own husband wouldn’t know you—
DESDEMONA: Oh, Bianca—what a thought—do you think he’d come? I’d die for sure— (Laughs)
And wouldn’t he be mad if he’d paid for what he got for free at home!!
BIANCA: Well, the room’s bleedin’ black—blacker than he is.
(Bianca and Emilia laugh together; Desdemona is affronted.)
DESDEMONA: I beg your pardon?
BIANCA: No, no, all my Tuesday johns are reg’lars—Aw know ’em all. So if you want, let me know—it’ll be treacle next to wot Aw had today—
DESDEMONA: Do tell, Bianca—
EMILIA: Hasn’t m’lady had enough—
DESDEMONA: Oh, hush, Mealy—just mend your crotches, and don’t listen.
BIANCA: All right, then. Aw have this one john who comes once a week for an L ‘n’ B—
DESDEMONA: “L and B?”
BIANCA: In th’ Life, it’s known as a lam an’ brim—first they lam you, an’ mayhap you lam them, then you brim ’em…
(Desdemona looks blank) You know—first they beat you, an’ then you beat them, and then you give ’em wotever—an Adam an’ Eve, or a Sunny-Side Over—
DESDEMONA (Dawning): You mean men actually pay to beat you? And to be beaten?
BIANCA: Oh, well, it costs ’em a pretty penny, Aw can tell you; there’s nothin’ doin’ for less than two bob.
DESDEMONA (Eyes wide): My. Well, carry on.
BIANCA: Well, there’s this one john, an owld mate, who’s been on tick for some weeks, an’ ’e’s got quite a bill. But Aw feels sorry for ’im, ’is wife really lams ’im at ’ome, an’ Aw figure ’e needs t’ get it off ’is chest. So ’e comes in, an’ Aw says, “Tom, you owe me over two quid, now; when’s it comin’?”
“Gaw, Bianca,” ’e says, “Aw just been out o’ collar, an’—”
DESDEMONA: “Out of Collar?”
BIANCA: Wot yew call un-deployed…
“Bianca,” ’e says, “Gawd luv yew, me owld woman an’ Aw’ve had a row, an’ Aw’m all done in. Aw’ll pay th’ soddin’ bill, some’ow; but fer now, fer owld times…” ’e says.
Well, Gawd’s Wounds, wot was Aw t’do? “Right, then, Tom,” Aw said. An’ Aw lays down on the bed—’cause ’e liked me to go first—an’ ’e puts the straps on me.
“Tom,” Aw says, “listen, luv, th’ straps are bleedin’ tight!” An’ before Aw knew wot, ’e was lammin’ me fer real!! ’E did me fer a jacketin’ such as Aw thought would be me last L ’n’ B!!
Aw bite me teeth not to scream, ’cause the bobbies won’t put up with no row, no matter how many quid Aw pay ’em… Well, Tom finally gets it over wif, an’ it’s my turn.
“Aw’m sorry, Bianca,” ’e says, “if Aw got a bit rough.”
“Oh, it’s nofin’, Tom,” Aw says—’cause Aw’m determined t’ get me own back…So, Aw tie ’im down on th’ bed—’e’s a big strapper o’ a bloke—an’ then Aw lam th’ pudding out o’ ’im!! An’ ’e’s ’ollerin’ like it’s th’ Second Coming. Then after Aw gi’ ’im a royal pasting, Aw go through ’is togs, an’ in the back pocket Aw find a soddin’ crown!
“You been ’olding out on me, Tom! Aw’ve had it wi’ yer dodges an’ flams—wot kind o’ a soup kitchen do yew fink me?” An’ Aw let into ’im again!!
“Bianca—let me go, an’ Aw’ll niver flam to ye again!”
“BLEEDIN’ RIGHT!” Aw says. So Aw copped ’is brass, takes up the belt, an’ let ’im loose—straight into the street ’e runs, naked as a blue jay. Aw had to throw ’is togs after ’im.
“Yew Owld Stringer!” Aw yelled. “’Ere’s yer togs, an’ fer yer change, Take This!” (Raises her fist and slaps her elbow. Excited
, she catches her breath)
DESDEMONA: Jesus. Weren’t you scared?
BIANCA: Aw’d be lyin’ if Aw said nay. Aw thought it was me last trick. You can’t be too careful, there’s a lot of maggot-brained doodles in me bus’ness. But Aw can take care o’ meself.
DESDEMONA: Doesn’t…doesn’t it hurt?
BIANCA: Naw, not usual. It’s stingy-like, but it’s all fakement.
(Looking into Desdemona’s eyes, gets an idea) Aw c’n show you if you likes…C’mon, it won’t hurt you none—
DESDEMONA: Well…yes, all right, Bianca, show me.
22.
The beating scene. Emilia, Bianca and Desdemona.
EMILIA: Are you out o’ your mind? Lettin’ a strumpet strap you in your own house like a monk in Holy Week?
DESDEMONA: Turn around, Emilia, and mind your own business. Go on, turn around, and say your beads. Pay no attention.
(To Bianca) Sorry—please continue.
(Emilia says her beads through the following.)
EMILIA: Hail Mary Full of Grace the Lord is with Thee…
BIANCA: Get up on the table wi’ yer tale end up—
EMILIA: Holy Mary, Mother of— (Turns and sees Desdemona spread-eagled) —GOD!!!
BIANCA: Right now. Aw’ll just take a strap ’ere, an’ Aw’ll just brush you wi’ it—but when Aw let’s go, you move yer tail up. All right?
DESDEMONA: I…I think so; it’s rather like rising to the trot on a horse—
BIANCA: Right then. One—up. Two—down. All right, now. One. (Desdemona moves up) Two. (Lightly straps Desdemona as she moves down) One. (Desdemona moves up) An’ Two. (Desdemona moves down; a strap) Does it hurt?
DESDEMONA: No…no, it doesn’t, really.
BIANCA: Right then. Let’s have some sound e-ffecks. One. Two.
(Desdemona screams, Emilia clutches her rosary) NO!!—Not that loud! The bobbies would be in on yew so fast yew wouldn’t get yer panties up—just a moan enow to get ’im excited…Right, then? Now: One—Two; One—Two; One—Two; One—Two; One—Two; One—Two!!