MARY R.G., you must keep me abreast.
MARTA (Fiercely.) Comrade Felson, you have betrayed the Moscow Art Theatre.
MARY Marta, I’d suggest you not fling accusations. R.G., may I?
R.G. Mary, she’s all yours.
MARY Ever since we first met at the “Young Man With a Horn” premiere, I found it curious, your extreme aversion to signing autographs.
MARTA There’s nothing curious about that. Autograph collecting is a capitalist fetish encouraged to separate artists from the people.
MARY A rudimentary phone call to the girls in the studio contract department revealed that even those documents were signed by proxy.
R.G. We were both left wondering where we could find your signature.
MARY Certainly not in cement at Graumann’s. No, it was I who finally discovered your Jane Hancock on this postcard from Tijuana. It perfectly matches the signature of one Olga Shumsky, a Soviet agent of the KGB. The message itself was also a tip-off. “Having a great time but wish I was in Odessa.”
MARTA You’re a liar! It’s a frame-up.
MARY No, Miss Shumsky. It is you who have created an identity built on lies. The real Marta Towers was a lovely, aspiring young actress who was found murdered on a lonely dirt road outside Tijuana. We have also located Dr. Leon Beidemann, who performed extensive plastic surgery on you, enabling the dog-faced, moustached, piano-legged Olga Shumsky to successfully break into American show business. I charge you with the murder of Marta Towers.
MARTA (Violently.) Yes! I am Commissar Olga Shumsky! And yes, I killed Marta Towers, the simpering little fool. I shared a quesadilla with her at a truck stop, and endured her recitation of Juliet’s potion scene in her revolting Oklahoma twang. It was simple slipping the arsenic that turned her tequila sunrise into a sunset. I became the respected actress she’d never be. The New York critics rhapsodized over my solo “Three Sisters.” I should have become a major film star but the studios were too busy giving the big buildup to clap-ridden whores with dubbed voices!
Ominous music begins.
MARTA You think you’ve stopped us, but you haven’t scratched the surface. We’re everywhere, getting stronger, getting three picture deals and producer credit. Listen, hear the drums beating, pounding as we march down Hollywood Boulevard, trampling over the faded names of the soon-to-be-forgotten stars. March! March! Stamp on the infidels, the agents, the bloodsuckers, the columnists! March! March!
R.G. (To Yetta.) Send her to the psychopathic ward.
Yetta begins to lead Marta away.
MARTA (Clearly insane.) Who am I? I’m a soviet agent . . . No, I’m an actress. I’m a soviet agent . . . No, I’m a seagull. Squawk! Squawk! Masha, want a cracker? (She lashes out at Yetta.) Get away from me, Konstantin Gavrilovitch!
YETTA (Grabbing hold of her arms.) These nails have to be trimmed.
R.G. Outside, Yetta, not on the floor. (Yetta leads Marta off.)
MARY And now, Frank, what about you?
FRANK Well, I want to do what’s right. But I’m not sure what that is anymore.
MARY Darling, I think you know what you must do. Come clean.
FRANK Admit everything?
MARY Only then can you enjoy your freedom. Pat knows how deadly a secret can be. Don’t you, Pat? Don’t you?
PAT Frank, listen to Pat. Secrets kill.
R.G. Frank, what do you say? You’ll talk to the committee?
FRANK Yeah. Sure. I may have just joined the party but Hell, I’ve been pink for years. I’ll turn myself in.
MARY Darling, that’s marvelous, but don’t you think it would be helpful if you gave the names of others we know to be disloyal?
FRANK Name names? Gee, I don’t know if I could.
MARY My love, leave it to me. We’ll think of something. I’m in your corner.
FRANK But what about my childhood friend, the one I killed? It was an accident. I swear it.
MARY There’s no cause for worry. I looked into that too. Your wife has had quite a busy afternoon. The bureau knows you were innocent That’s why they never chose to pursue you.
PAT But what about me, Patricia Maybelle Schmuckleberger? The blood on my hands?
MARY Oh, Pat, don’t you concern yourself about a thing. You’re an American. Remember that. And in our country, only the guilty need live in fear.
Mary holds both Frank and Pat in her generous embrace. R.G. watches with admiration.
BLACKOUT
ACT TWO
SCENE 6
ANNOUNCER (Voiceover.) The Veedol Motor Oil Program with Pat Pilford.
Applause/Music.
ANNOUNCER (Voiceover.) Makers of Veedol Motor Oil, found wherever fine cars travel, present Miss Show Business, Pat Pilford. With special guest stars Kate Smith, Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, Music by the West Point Choir and Parker Jones and his Red White and Blue Orchestra, and yours truly, Bill Simmons in what will be my last introduction, since I was fired by Miss Pilford this morning. And now, your fabulous femm-cee, Pat Pilford . . .
Applause.
PAT (In front of her mike DR.) My dear audience. I must tell you what a very special day this is for me and really, employing the most grandiose terms, I’ll just say it, for our country. I’ve made it no secret that the lovely film star Mary Dale is my closest and dearest friend. Through thick and thin, that’s my Mare. Beauty, grace, talent, yes, those words spring to mind when we think of Mary Dale. Add to that recipe a dash of heroine. Mary Dale is a heroine of our time. As I speak, she is mounting the steps of Congress in Washington, D.C. to testify before the esteemed House Un-American Activities Committee. Some say it’s a controversial move on Mary’s part. What controversy? The girl’s just trying to help. If we don’t nip this in the bud, by golly, by next election day, our White House will be painted red. These people are getting away with murder! Don’t get me started. Mary, I just want you to know our hearts and prayers are with you. God bless you, Mary Dale.
Mary enters SL in a lovely white dress and straw boater. She is the essence of magnificent American womanhood. She is radiant. She crosses to podium. Pat exits SR door. Behind Mary we see the Capitol Building.)
MARY (Standing at podium with microphones U.C.) Senators, gentlemen, I stand before this august body terribly humbled. Only in America could a young girl raised by struggling farmers in Indiana grow up to be a movie star and able to speak to a distinguished panel of Senators and may I add, most handsome. I must tell you of a dream I had about Lady Godiva, which is my latest film and I cordially invite all of you to the premiere at the Pantages. And from that dream I learned to apply the simple answers of a bygone era to the complicated questions of today. And that is why I am here before this congressional investigation to provide you with a list of names to aid you in your noble hunt to route out the red menace. Together with God’s help we can make sure that these people never work again. (She opens envelope.) My this is very exciting. (She takes list out of envelope.) I name Marta Towers, Bertram Barker . . . (She pauses for a moment, hesitantly.) and because I love him, Frank Taggart. (Regaining her sense of purpose.) From the student roster of the Yetta Felson Studio, I name Betty Foster, Jeff Patterson, Morris Kleiner, Mildred Pishkin, Lona Myers, Anthony Reaci, Rudy Abbotelli, Howard Mandlebaum, June Sycoff . . .
Patriotic music swells and eventually drowns out her speech. Behind the Capitol, a giant flag appears rustling in the breeze. On the SR side of the flag, a miniature of the Statue of Liberty appears and on SL of the flag, a miniature of the Liberty Bell. As Mary names names, both the music and lighting become dissonant, disturbing and threatening until both sound and lights suddenly blackout.)
THE END
THE TALE OF THE ALLERGIST’S WIFE
THE CAST
The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife was originally produced by Manhattan Theatre Club (Lynne Meadow, Artistic Director; Barry Grove, Executive Producer) at City Center Stage 11 and subsequently moved to the Ethel Barrymore Theatre, opening November 2, 2000, under the a
uspices of Manhattan Theatre Club, Carol Shorenstein Hays, Daryl Roth, Stuart Thompson, and Douglas S. Cramer. Directed by Lynne Meadow, with set design by Santo Loquasto; costumes, Ann Roth; lighting, Christopher Akerlind; and sound, Bruce Ellman and Brian Ronan, it was performed with the following cast, in order of appearance:
THE CHARACTERS
Mohammed Marjorie
Ira
Frieda
Lee
PLACE: MANHATTAN
TIME: TODAY
THE TALE OF THE ALLERGIST’S WIFE
ACT ONE
SCENE 1
A two-bedroom apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. It’s a post-war building and the apartment, cherished for its views, is decorated in an expensive contemporary style. A living room leads directly into the kitchen. A counter separates the kitchen from the living room, enabling people in the two rooms to converse with each other. It is late morning but the curtains are drawn.
MARJORIE TAUB is lying in her robe on the sofa. She is an attractive, stylish woman but at the moment she’s in her robe and feeling far from stylish. She speaks in a somewhat studied manner. It’s a New York accent with a strange overlay of affected theatricality. She’s in the throes of an epic depression. It’s not quiet depression but raging frustration. She’s a volcano that explodes, simmers down, and then explodes again. One of her wrists is bandaged. MOHAMMED, a boyish and very good-looking twenty-two-year-old doorman from Iraq, is attaching an elaborate chandelier into the ceiling. He’s removed his jacket and shirt and tie and is wearing a white T-shirt.
MOHAMMED Mrs. Taub, are you sure you want me doing this now? I can come back later. I’m on the door until four-thirty when Felix takes over.
MARJORIE Now, later, yesterday. Ce n’est pas le difference.
MOHAMMED Because if you have a headache—
MARJORIE How I’d relish a simple headache. This chandelier—I don’t know. It’s just not—I can’t express it.
MOHAMMED Mrs. Taub, describe to me your vision once more.
MARJORIE It should be a feverish dream out of Baudelaire. Exotic, mesmerizing. This doesn’t say “Extravagant decadence.” This says “Lighting fixture.”
MOHAMMED No it says “Romantic opulence.”
MARJORIE (Losing her patience.) It says “Repro bought at cost.” (Flings herself down on the divan.) I’m sorry I put you through all this. Take it down. Bring it back in the storage room.
MOHAMMED Perhaps you should give it a little time.
MARJORIE I want it out of here!
MOHAMMED (Changing the subject.) Oh, I meant to return your book.
MARJORIE You have a book of mine?
MOHAMMED Nadine Gordimer. I loved how she wove the politics of apartheid into the emotional lives of the characters.
MARJORIE Yes, she is an inspired artist.
MOHAMMED I can see why you loved it so much.
MARJORIE And yet, the more I think about it, the more facile and superficial it was.
MOHAMMED It was very subtle and thought-provoking.
MARJORIE Not compared to Tolstoy, Turgenev, Flaubert.
MOHAMMED But Mrs. Taub, they were giants.
MARJORIE They were. Weren’t they? Everything today seems so—trifling. But what do I know. Who the hell am I? I have such respect for you, Mohammed. You can do things. With your hands. Plumbing, electric.
MOHAMMED My father is an architect. Very much respected. He didn’t want us to be spoiled. He insisted that my brothers and I learn a great diversity of skills.
MARJORIE Skills are very important. I have very few skills.
MOHAMMED Did you not go to the university?
MARJORIE I was a business major. It’s not what I would have preferred.
MOHAMMED And if you could have had your wish?
MARJORIE My wish? Philosophy. I would have loved to study the great works of Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, and Spinoza. I’ve tried to educate myself. Let’s say I am no stranger to the New School for Social Research. (She bursts into tears.) Oh, I’m sorry.
MOHAMMED I wasn’t on duty when they brought you home but I heard about it.
MARJORIE People are talking about me?
MOHAMMED You know what it’s like. People gather in the lobby.
MARJORIE Well, if they’re saying it was a suicide attempt, please tell them it was an accident.
MOHAMMED Is there anything I can do for you?
MARJORIE You’re very kind but there’s nothing anyone can do for me. Just finish putting up the damn thing. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to depend on the rotten handyman in this lousy building. And I’ve enjoyed reading our books together. You’re very perceptive.
MOHAMMED It’s all done. Shall we try it?
MARJORIE That’s all right. I’m sure it works.
He turns on the light. Like a vampire exposed to the light, Marjorie writhes on the sofa.
MARJORIE Turn it off, please! I never use the overhead!
Mohammed turns off the light and returns to move the ladder away. The front door opens and Marjorie’s husband, IRA, enters. He’s a goodlooking, highly energetic man, in his fifties. He’s wearing his jogging suit and headband and talking on a tiny cellular phone.
IRA (On the phone.) Take the prednisone as prescribed and listen to me, Renee. Forget “the show must go on.” No talking for two days. And I have ESP so I’ll know if you’re cheating. There’s no charge. You say that again and I’ll be mad. Hugs to Steve and the children. (He hangs up.) Renee Elias. What a character but such God-given talent. It’s an honor and a blessing to give that girl free samples of Humabid.
Ira crosses to Mohammed and pats him on the back.
IRA Hey there, kemo sabe. How’s the skateboarding?
MOHAMMED Fine, Dr. Taub.
MARJORIE Mohammed attached the lighting fixture. I promised him forty.
IRA (Thinking Mohammed can’t see him, Ira grimaces that she went so high.) And he certainly deserves it. The room is transformed. (Takes the money out of the money pouch attached around his waist.) Here you go, my friend. Don’t spend it all in one place.
MOHAMMED Thank you. I shall see you both downstairs by the door. (He exits.)
IRA When I left this morning, you were sleeping on the sofa. Did you spend the whole night out here?
MARJORIE Apparently so.
IRA Was it my snoring? I don’t know what to do.
MARJORIE It’s not the snoring.
IRA Then what is it, darling? Please, tell me.
MARJORIE (A long sigh.) Perdu.
IRA What?
MARJORIE Perdu. Utter damnation. The loss of my soul.
IRA I’m opening these drapes. (Ira pushes apart the curtains.)
IRA Marjorie, you’ve got to rouse yourself from this perdu. You’ve spent how many weeks lying out here in the dark? I’m really worried. Perhaps you should see someone.
MARJORIE A therapist? My therapist died. I cannot replace that remarkable woman as easily as I would a dead schnauzer.
IRA Marjorie, I did not mean to disparage your relationship with Reba Fabrikant. But you cannot allow her passing to be a catalyst for a complete breakdown. Am I the problem? I know I’m far from perfect. It took me over thirty years to get the point that you hated my jokes. Have you heard a single joke from me in months, a play on words, a pun?
MARJORIE It was wrong of me to censor you. I should be ashamed of myself.
IRA No, you were right. People who constantly make puns aren’t really listening. I’m glad you criticized me. I am grateful.
MARJORIE Please don’t say that. Have you heard from the Disney Store?
IRA Yes. Good news. They’re not going to press charges. They’re being very understanding.
MARJORIE What do they understand?
IRA Well, that you had just left a memorial service for your beloved therapist and you had a—
MARJORIE The memorial service was nearly a month before.
IRA Doesn’t matter. You were out of control.
> MARJORIE It was an accident. People drop things.
IRA Within three minutes, you dropped six porcelain figurines. They tell me the Goofy alone was two hundred and fifty dollars.
MARJORIE And you had to pay for everything?
IRA Forget the expense. What is money but a conduit to help people? It’s you I worry about.
MARJORIE It was an accident.
IRA I know but they thought you were making some kind of political statement about the Disney Corporation. You know what? I think you should get dressed and go outside. (Eyes the calendar taped to the refrigerator.) Let’s see what you had going for today. Tuesday the seventh. One-thirty, lecture on the literary legacy of Hermann Hesse at Goethe House. “Hiroshima/ Vagina,” Multimedia landscapes, Landsberg Gallery, Soho. Five o’clock, Regina Resnik opera symposium, Florence Gould Auditorium. You’ve got quite a day mapped out for yourself.
MARJORIE I should be barred from all of those places. I’m of limited intellect. Never have I had even one original thought.
IRA That is not true. If I were half as intellectually curious as you.
MARJORIE Curious yes. Profound no.
IRA What do you call “profound”?
MARJORIE The ability to think in the abstract. Oh Ira, can’t we just face it? We’re Russian peasants from the shtetl. We have no right to be attending art installations at the Whitney. We should be tilling the soil, pulling a plow.
Ira’s beeper goes off. He takes out his phone and dials the number.
IRA Jeffrey Krampf, one of my grad students. Brilliant, tortured mind. I think he’s on crack. What can I do? Let him flounder? Now, the line’s busy. You’re so tough on us. You know, that last production of “Waiting for Godot” affected me deeply. I had the sense that I finally understood what that play was about.
MARJORIE You understood the story. You think it’s about two guys who get stranded by the Tappan Zee Bridge. They’re not waiting for Triple A. It’s about—I can’t even explain what it’s about. That is my conundrum. I don’t understand the play any better than you. I’m a fraud. A cultural poseur. To quote Kafka, “I am a cage in search of a bird.”
IRA You’re hungry.
The Tale of the Allergist's Wife and Other Plays Page 21