MALCOLM Mr. Taggart, I thought I heard you come in.
FRANK (Focused on his shoe.) I can’t . . . this thing’s . . . I . . .
MALCOLM Here let me. (Malcolm kneels down and unties Frank’s shoes and takes them off.)
FRANK Sorry I woke you up.
MALCOLM That’s all right. I was just worried that you’d hurt yourself. Here, let me massage your foot. You like when I do that.
FRANK (Relaxing.) Oh yeah . . . like that. Were you in bed?
MALCOLM It’s after two in the morning. It’s not unusual for a person to be in bed. Actually I was reading. I won’t tell you what I was reading. I wouldn’t want to shock you.
FRANK Didn’t we give you that robe?
MALCOLM Yes you did. Last Christmas. From you and the missus. You’re a very generous man. It’s pure silk, see? (He lifts up part of the robe exposing his bare thigh.) It feels really good cause you know, I’m nude under here.
FRANK (Not really listening.) Is that so?
MALCOLM Yes I am. (Gets up and massages Frank’s shoulders.) I always sleep in the raw. It’s handy since I never know when I’ll have to throw you in the shower.
FRANK Malcolm, you’re all pal, a real guy.
MALCOLM I’m also part woman.
FRANK (Sobers up for a moment.) Whaaa?
MALCOLM (Sifting gears.) I said “You’ve been with a woman.” I can tell.
FRANK Shhhh. And what a woman. Brains, brains, brains.
MALCOLM I’ve got an idea. I’m going to take you to my room so we don’t disturb the missus and I’m gonna give you a complete alcohol rub down. It’s gonna feel so good.
FRANK No, too messy.
MALCOLM Don’t worry. I’ll take off my robe so it won’t get ruined. We’re just two guys. You won’t mind if I’m also nude.
FRANK No rub down.
MALCOLM Don’t give Malcolm a hard time. Bad boys get spanked. These pants are coming off, now. (He begins unfastening Frank’s pants.)
Mary enters in pajamas and marabou trimmed mules. “Hers” is inscribed on her pajama top pocket.
MARY Frank?
MALCOLM (Standing up.) Mrs. Taggart, he’s done it again.
MARY (With true sympathy.) And awakened you from a sound sleep. I’m so sorry, Malcolm.
MALCOLM That’s all right, Mrs. Taggart. Better me than you.
FRANK Malcolm, my friend, fix me a scotch.
MARY (To Malcolm.) No, you don’t. Frank, you’re drunk.
FRANK Don’t be upset, Mary.
MARY Malcolm, you can go back to bed.
MALCOLM Are you sure you don’t need me? It can be hard getting those clothes off him.
MARY I can undress him myself. Goodnight Malcolm and thank you.
MALCOLM Well . . . goodnight then.
He starts to exit. Mary turns her back to him and Malcolm makes an ugly face frustrated that she interrupted his possible seduction of Frank. He exits.
MARY Really Frank, how many times must you wake up the servants and force them to handle you in this drunken state.
FRANK Lay off, will ya. I only had a few beers. I’m not that tight. Don’t make me feel like I’m being watched by the FBI. Go back to bed, Mary.
MARY Well, since you’re as sober as a judge, perhaps it’s a good time to show you this. (She takes out the passport.)
FRANK What is it?
MARY A passport belonging to one Moishe Nisowitz.
FRANK (Frank explodes and shakes her furiously by the shoulders.) Where did you find that? Give that back to me! (About to strike her, then catches himself in horror.) Good God.
MARY You wanted to strike me.
FRANK I wouldn’t have. I couldn’t.
MARY (With great dramatic intensity.) Frank. I’ll believe anything you tell me. But please give me some explanation of what this means and why my discovery of it would cause you to nearly harm me. (She hands him the passport.)
FRANK What can I say? I’m a louse. This passport does belong to me. I am Moishe Nisowitz and it’s true I was born in the Soviet Union.
MARY Then everything you told me is a lie.
FRANK I was afraid if you knew the truth you wouldn’t marry me. My parents escaped to this country when I was two years old. We settled on the lower east side of New York. I loved this country and I always felt I belonged more to it than to my parents. So when they both died, I gave myself a new American name and a new past.
MARY (Rushing into his arms.) Darling, I love you so. Despite everything. But please, let’s not have any more secrets. You do love me, don’t you? That isn’t a lie, is it?
FRANK Of course not. I love you so very much.
MARY Because you know, if I ever found out you didn’t love me, I think I’d kill myself.
FRANK Mary, don’t say such a thing.
MARY I would, I would kill myself. When I love, I love completely. It’s my life. It’s who I am. Hold me darling. Hold me tighter. I like it like this. How did your meeting go with your agent?
FRANK Not bad. He wants to lean me more towards comedy. But it’s a tough sell. The studio doesn’t think I’m funny. I hate comedy. How was your tea party with Pat and Marta. Did they come to blows?
MARY They seemed to hit it off fine. But I don’t know, there’s something about Marta that bothers me. I don’t know what it is. I’m tired. Let’s get to bed.
FRANK What’s wrong with Marta? She’s certainly been a friend to you.
MARY She gave us lovely bar equipment although considering your proclivities, I would have preferred a blender for milk shakes. No, I wouldn’t call her a great pal. Coming to bed?
FRANK Shortly. I just don’t see where you come off criticizing a woman who’s done nothing more than want to befriend you.
MARY I simply said there was something about her that bothers me.
FRANK It’s just that in this town everyone passes quick judgements on people. This guy isn’t funny, this woman should be shunned.
MARY I didn’t say Marta should be shunned. But truth to be told, I find her humorless. And that certainly shows in her comedy playing.
FRANK I know she can’t compete with the glittering wit of a Pat Pilford.
MARY Pat Pilford is a comedy legend and my best friend. I had no idea you were so devoted to Marta Towers.
FRANK (With mounting anger.) I don’t like your tone, Mary. But it’s my opinion that Marta Towers is one of the finest dramatic actresses gracing this artistic wasteland we call motion pictures.
MARY The studio only signed La Divine because she was sleeping with the head of publicity.
FRANK (Shouting.) Did Pat tell you smutty gossip?
MARY Frank, listen to us, we’re nearly arguing. Now, please, let’s end this conversation and go to bed. After all, tomorrow is a rather important day.
FRANK Tomorrow?
MARY January seventeenth. The anniversary of the day we first met.
FRANK Oh yes.
MARY Now I hope you haven’t forgotten we have reservations at Ciro’s tomorrow night.
FRANK Mary, I . . .
MARY Frank, you haven’t . . .
FRANK I know it’s awful but Marta said tomorrow night she could get me into her method acting class at the Yetta Felson Studio. They’re very fussy about who they let in to observe. It’s a great opportunity for me, Mary.
MARY (Quietly.) I see. Of course, I am disappointed but I know how much this means to you.
FRANK You’re a great girl, Mary.
MARY Couldn’t I come with you? Surely they’d let me observe too.
FRANK I don’t think so.
MARY But why not? I could hardly be called an amateur. I’ve made twelve pictures in three years.
FRANK That’s not the point, Mary.
MARY What is the point, Frank? I’m not good enough. Do they look down their noses at your little wife who last year had two films on Variety’s list of top moneymakers. Should I be ashamed of that?
FRANK Mary, don’t get worked up. It’s
just that they do a different kind of acting.
MARY My kind of acting comes from the heart. My high school dramatics coach, Miss Helen Phipps, said I acted with the simple pure belief a child. I’ll compete any day with those pretentious intellectuals with their grunting and sweating.
FRANK Mary, you sound foolish. Great acting is uncovering depths of emotion that dare to be ugly, even repulsive. It’s the exposure of the self in all of its raw truth.
MARY Can I help it if I’m pretty and have a flair for fashion. I’m terribly serious about my acting. I know everything about Lady Godiva, what she thinks, feels, wears. I swear if I was konked over the head this minute, her life would pass before my eyes.
FRANK Mary, just face it. You’re a movie star, not an actress. You wouldn’t know Chekhov from Chill Wills.
MARY Well, that does it! That does it! (She runs into the bedroom.)
FRANK Mary, forgive me. It was a terrible thing to say.
MARY (Enters carrying his pillow and blanket.) Tonight Frank Taggart or Moishe Nisowitz, whoever you may be, you sleep on the sofa. As of this moment, our twin beds are off limits.
FRANK You don’t have to worry. (He grabs his coat.) And another thing, if you’ve read your history books, your precious Godiva was nothing but a two bit whore. I’ll amend that. All women are whores.
MARY Buster, Godiva was a lady and so am I. Now get out!
FRANK With pleasure.
Frank exits leaving Mary alone, forlorn and confused.
BLACKOUT
ACT ONE
SCENE 4
Bullocks Department Store, the next day.
Pat is revealed DR when lights come up. Mary is in the changing room. SALESGIRL enters SL door. She crosses to Pat.
SALESGIRL Miss Pilford, is anyone waiting on you?
PAT Yes thank you. My friend is in the try on room.
SALESGIRL You really ought to take a gander at some of our new cashmere sweaters. They are simply to die for. There’s one with a collar covered in gold paillettes that screams out your name.
PAT Oh honey, tell it to pipe down. My friend is trying to make me more refined.
SALESGIRL I listen to you on the radio every week and you are the only one with courage to speak out on the red issue. Those commies get me so mad. (Giggles.) Now if you’ll excuse me Miss Pilford, I can see brassieres pointing at me. (She exits SR door.)
MITCHELL DRAKE enters SL door. He is an attractive, dark-haired man in his late thirties, an odd mixture of the intellectual, the macho and the dangerous.
MITCHELL Ah, then it is you, Pat.
PAT Mitchell Drake.
MITCHELL (Charming.) I saw the legs. They’re still better than any race horse and then I recognized the voice. Once heard, never forgotten.
PAT What are you doing here in the ladies department at Bullocks? Oh, the perfume counter. A special gift for a special lady. I should have known better.
MITCHELL You’ve got all the answers, don’t you Pat?
PAT I’ve got a helluva lot on you.
MITCHELL I could say the same.
PAT What brings you here to the Pueblo?
MITCHELL There seems to be a demand for my services here in Hollywood. Perhaps the boys upstairs are starting to realize great screenwriters don’t grow on orange trees.
PAT I thought the great playwright would never leave New York.
MITCHELL The great playwright needed a change of scenery.
PAT Well, what sort of purchase do you have in mind? A large bottle of French perfume or a small vial of toilet water?
MITCHELL Oh, something small. The lady is just a passing fancy. And she’s passing quicker every second.
PAT Oh, so you think we’re ready for a second act, Mitch?
MITCHELL I think we’ve had a long enough intermission, yes.
PAT I nearly didn’t survive the first act curtain.
MITCHELL It wasn’t all drama. We had fun. Those were exciting days for us in New York. Me writing sketches for the Follies and you wringing every laugh out of them. You were great. Great at everything. I’m going to be in town for awhile. Shall we take advantage of the situation?
PAT Taking advantage are good words to describe an affair with you. No, Mitchell, edit me out of any of your second act ideas.
MITCHELL Oh, that’s right. You’re a great believer in censorship. You’ll come around, Pat. Why fight it. You know you’ll enjoy it. You always do.
Salesgirl enters SR door holding a foolish hat with pompoms jutting into the air.
SALESGIRL Sir, is there anything I can help you with?
MITCHELL No, I don’t think so. I’ll wait on that. Goodbye, Pat. (He exits SL door.)
SALESGIRL Miss Pilford, I thought this little chapeau might intrigue you.
PAT Oh, I don’t know dear. It’s a bit too “Mary Pickford on a bender.”
Mary enters SR through curtains carrying garments and boxes.
MARY This is terrible, Pat. Here we are giving you a fashion makeover, and I go on a spending spree. (She notices the hat in the salegirl’s hand.) Ah, that hat. It’s so delectable. How much? Don’t even tell me. Pat, this is your day.
PAT We should just forget it I’m never going to be chic. It’s like putting a Dior on Plymouth Rock.
SALESGIRL (Laughing.) Oh, Miss Pilford. Miss Dale, shall I charge these to your account and have them delivered? (Salesgirl takes packages and garments from Mary.)
MARY That would be lovely. Thank you.
SALESGIRL (Sighs, looking at hat.) And I suppose this poor little orphan goes back to Millinery. (Laughs. She exits SL door.)
MARY After this I thought we’d look at slacks.
PAT No. We’re going to talk. What’s wrong, Mary?
MARY Nothing’s wrong.
PAT Quit stalling. I’ll get it out of you.
MARY Am I so transparent?
PAT Like a silk stocking without a run. It’s Frank, isn’t it?
MARY Yes, it’s Frank. Pat, I really don’t want to discuss it and certainly not here in Bullocks.
PAT Mary, this is Pat, you know Pat, P-A-T, zany, warm hearted, bad dye job, your best friend.
MARY I think Frank may be seeing another woman.
PAT Anyone we know?
MARY Oh yes. Marta Towers.
PAT (Speechless.) Don’t even ... Did you catch them in flagrante delicto?
MARY What?
PAT Did you catch them in the act? The Soviet version of the old ooh la la.
MARY No, nothing like that. It’s only a suspicion, mind you. But I’m scared, Pat. Frank’s growing away from me. It’s as if I hardly know him anymore.
PAT What’s your evidence?
MARY Marta’s convinced him to join her method acting class.
PAT Mary, if you let him walk through those doors, you’ll never see him again.
MARY What can I do?
PAT You’re so helpless. How did you become a star? You must have some steel in your girdle.
MARY He’s moved out of the house. I can’t very well throw myself in front of his car.
PAT Then you’ll have to follow him there.
MARY I couldn’t. He’d be furious.
PAT Better angry now then divorced later. Don’t you see, Mary, it’s not Marta that he loves, it’s what she stands for, high art and all that crap. If it was sex he was after, he’d be hottailing it with some carhop with big bazooms, not some eggheaded pinko. Face it girl, your enemy isn’t pussy, it’s Stanislavsky! Want me to play sidekick?
MARY No, I must do this alone. If only I could be sure this was the right thing to do.
PAT Trust Pat. How many times must I tell people. Ideas are dangerous. Squash ‘em!
MARY Pat, you’re so vehement.
PAT Maybe it’s just that . . . well I knew a woman once who loved a man, desperately. He too became infatuated with an idea and the little fool did nothing and lost him. Well enough of that malarkey. Hey, what do you say we look at them hats and get you a spiffy one f
or your entree into the academy of dramatic art.
MARY Well perhaps there is method in your madness. (She laughs.)
PAT Shakespeare, ain’t it? And who says we ain’t highbrow.
They link arms and exit through SL door.
BLACKOUT
ACT ONE
SCENE 5
That night. The administrative office of the Yetta Felson Acting School. BARKER, a heavyset man with a cigar is seated behind the desk, SR.R.G. BENSON, an elegant director is seated in a swivel armchair smoking a pipe. Mitchell Drake, standing at the DS side of the desk is lighting his cigarette, and Barker’s cigar as the lights come up. Malcolm is pacing.
BARKER Don’t be a nervous Nellie, Malcolm.
MALCOLM Mr. Barker, I wish you wouldn’t speak to me like that.
BARKER You’re too sensitive. Sit down. I looked in on Yetta’s class. Taggart’s buying the whole megillah.
MITCHELL Taggart’s hooked on the method like a rug.
BARKER (Snickering.) Actors and their craft.
R.G. La Felson most certainly has a messianic quality.
BARKER I love the way this guy talks. Class all the way. Scene Study should be over any minute. Marta will bring Taggart to the office and before you can say “Charlie Chaplin,” he’ll be signed, sealed and delivered.
MALCOLM You will be gentle with him? He’s a very vulnerable kind of guy.
BARKER What do you take me for, a bully? You hurt my feelings, Malcolm. I have a great respect for artists. What other organization can boast a famous New York playwright such as Mitchell Drake and an oscar-winning film director like the great R.G. Benson.
R.G. You’re most flattering, Mr. Barker.
BARKER R.G., we would be greatly honored to display your oscar here at the Felson school.
R.G. I wish I could comply but my aged mother has it prominently displayed in her den in Black Hills, South Dakota and I couldn’t possibly . . .
BARKER Are you refusing me?
R.G. I’m merely saying that . . .
MITCHELL (Crudely.) Get this straight, Benson. We don’t take too kindly being turned down by some Hollywood hack who can’t keep his pecker out of every female child star on the lot.
R.G. I would be delighted to donate my oscar.
BARKER Donation accepted.
MARTA (Offstage.) This way.
BARKER Box up! Here they come.
Frank and Marta enter SL door. Marta is wearing a black strapless cocktail dress.
The Tale of the Allergist's Wife and Other Plays Page 17