primary . . . area of interest?
Retail?
SHELLEY: I don’t mind.
Long as every Thursday my paycheck’s in my pocket I’m happy.
JEFF: . . . Exactly.
There’s so much romance about “work,” isn’t there, but essentially it’s utilitarian.
(Beat. She looks at him.)
I’ve always thought malls were the romance of the suburbs, do you know? The randomness of a city, but in a container.
(She looks at him.)
Do you like it?
SHELLEY: I don’t mind. My parents, though! They don’t like it when they have to park.
JEFF: Yes! The parking is notor / ious.
SHELLEY: Oh my mother especially: She don’t like it at all.
She says, Why can’t you take the bus?
I say, When the bus runs my hours I’ll take the bus.
And my father! He just swears. He’s got a terrible mouth on him
JEFF: I have a friend who proposed that as a road test, you take the kid to Roosevelt Field on a Saturday and if he lives, he passes.
SHELLEY: That’d be dangerous though.
(Beat.)
JEFF: She was joking.
SHELLEY: It’s crazy there.
(Beat.)
JEFF: Yes . . .
SHELLEY: You’re Scotty’s friend?
JEFF: Yes!
SHELLEY: You must be smart, then
JEFF: . . . It’s a matter of . . . application more than
SHELLEY: ’Cause Scotty’s smart.
He’s always been smart from the time he was born, Scotty.
My father says to me: How can you have a cousin’s so smart when you’re such a dummy?
JEFF: . . . He . . . doesn’t . . . say that
SHELLEY: I say, I don’t know ’cause I’m too dumb.
He don’t have nothing to say to that.
JEFF: . . . Touché . . .
SHELLEY: Yeah. Everybody always said Scotty’s different. My father says, That Scotty’s so pretty, too bad he’s the boy and you’re the girl.
(Jeff has nothing to say to that.)
I was never school-smart.
JEFF: Who’s to say?
SHELLEY (Continuous): I have common sense
JEFF: Which is rare. (Is anyone ever going to enter this room?)
So
. . .
What do you want to be?
SHELLEY: Oh, I don’t want to be nothin’.
As long as I get a paycheck every Thursday.
My father, he says, You got a good job. You don’t ask them for a raise. They pay you what they think you’re worth. Why rock the boat?
(Jeff is visibly distressed.)
JEFF: That can’t be the time.
Oh shoot! I was supposed to—
Scotty and I—
Oh man—
Listen, I’ll see you at dinner, yes?
We’ll continue our—
I can’t believe that’s what time . . .
wish me luck finding his room!
(Jeff hastens out. Shelley just sits there. Nothing happens in her face or body. She sits some more.)
Scotty’s bedroom. Scotty, post-shower, is in a hotel robe, lying down on his bed. Jeff enters.
JEFF: What the fuck are you doing—hiding?
SCOTTY: Hey! Hi. No
JEFF: Because your entire family has arrived in a pack
SCOTTY: They’re already here?
JEFF: Yeah.
SCOTTY: Shit, I’m gonna have to
JEFF: Right, right.
But: your cousin?
SCOTTY: Poor Shelley.
Why? Did you have an episode with her?
JEFF: I wandered into this room and then she . . . like . . . wandered into the same room—this place is, like, you need a Sherpa—and we were somehow thrust upon each other
SCOTTY: Oh fuck
JEFF: And a really riveting, Noël Coward–like conversation ensued
SCOTTY: Did Aunt Faye like arrange for you / to
JEFF: Maybe?
SCOTTY: Babe, I think you’re engaged.
JEFF: Oh, they’re posting the banns, no question
SCOTTY: I’ll be your Best Man
JEFF: You will stand beside me under the ch-ch-chuppa
SCOTTY: At Temple Beth Yikes
JEFF: I’m buying my tallit and my payus / as we speak
SCOTTY: Mazel
JEFF: I’m plotzing.
(They laugh a little.)
SCOTTY (Contrition): She’s a nice girl, though. I don’t like to . . .
JEFF: . . . No . . . no . . .
SCOTTY: God, they’re here already
JEFF: I can attest
SCOTTY (Sighs): I guess I’m gonna have to . . . present myself
JEFF: Are you getting Timmy’s flu? You look
SCOTTY: I’m okay. God, I’m a shitty host—I just abandoned you
JEFF: You have
SCOTTY: Have you been holed up in / your
JEFF: No—I’ve been talking to your folks, actually, it’s
SCOTTY: You have
JEFF: Oh! By the way? I love your mom.
I hope you don’t mind but I’m marrying your mom.
SCOTTY: What’s mine is yours.
JEFF: I figured that. But you know, I like to be appropriate.
SCOTTY: And what about my dad?
JEFF: He’ll have to bow out gracefully.
SCOTTY: How does he seem to you?
JEFF: Um
SCOTTY: I mean, does he seem different in any way
JEFF: I don’t have, like, that much of a baseline
SCOTTY: Right
JEFF: He’s the way he’s supposed to be.
Like when I researched your family:
“He possesses a management style at once humane and terrifying.”
SCOTTY: Something’s going on with him.
JEFF: Like what?
SCOTTY: Like he says, “Hi, Scott.”
And he’s really stern about it.
And then he gets, like, yielding?
And then it’s like he’s going to cry or something.
JEFF: And this is: “Hi, Scott”?
SCOTTY: Has he asked you anything about me?
JEFF: Asked me about you?
No. What do you mean?
SCOTTY: I’m not trying to turn you into a spy or anything like that but he’s not a subtle man, he would interrogate you; he does that.
JEFF: Well . . . he hasn’t.
SCOTTY: Wow. Good.
JEFF: Yeah. (They nod) So are you gonna marry Ilana?
SCOTTY: Pardon?
JEFF: Like on the hoof? Like elope to Vegas or Biafra or someplace romantic / like that?
SCOTTY: Where did that idea come from?
JEFF: I dunno. The question just seemed to be in the air
SCOTTY: Really: You and Shelley will be happening before / Ilana and
JEFF: She’s coming, though, right? Tonight? Ilana?
SCOTTY: Who the fuck knows?
Probably not.
The last time I entreated her, she said / not
JEFF: Why?
SCOTTY: I dunno. She’s got a cold or the patriarchy; something
JEFF: Did you fuck up on the trip or something?
SCOTTY: I don’t think so. I don’t know. Maybe. Jeez.
JEFF: Fuck
. . .
How was your trip anyway?
I should have asked but I wasn’t really that interested.
How was . . . Rwanda or whatever?
SCOTTY: It was,
you know,
crappy but ennobling
or some shit like that
. . .
There were these people there—like peace workers?—
And I looked at them and listened and I thought:
I Am Not These People
and then I’d look at Ilana and think:
And Nor Are You
JEFF: And “neither”
JEFF: Not “and nor”—“and neither.”
But—no—go on—
SCOTTY: Yeah—right—no: Thank you—but
JEFF: Right
SCOTTY: It really made me look at my whole relationship with Ilana, you know? Because hasn’t the whole premise been that she’s a pain in the ass but by committing myself to her I’ll transcend my inbred uselessness?
JEFF: Uh-huh, right.
SCOTTY: But what if she’s not authentic in her commitments?
What if she’s just this . . . fucking lunatic?
Does it all really just come down to: Sex With A Crazy Girl?
Which would be unbelievably dishonorable; do you know?
JEFF: Okay.
Wow.
SCOTTY: Yeah.
JEFF: Or is it that subconsciously you’re thinking, Holy shit, am I dating Angela Davis and thirty years from now, how will that play with the electorate?
SCOTTY: No, it isn’t. (He looks over his shoulder, then closes door) Jeff, I had this huge revelation.
JEFF: Oh God—on your trip?
SCOTTY: Even before—when I was writing my thesis.
JEFF (With real concern): What is it?
SCOTTY: I’m not essentially political.
JEFF: . . . Wow.
SCOTTY: Which is, like, the opposite of all known facts concerning me and my, like, Destiny and shit?
JEFF: Right. Yeah.
SCOTTY: So I had to ask myself: What do I want to be, really?
JEFF: And: Have You An Answer?
SCOTTY: I’m thinking . . . maybe . . . a teacher?
(Jeff just looks at him for a long time.)
JEFF: A teacher?
SCOTTY: Yeah. I like kids . . . and reading . . . and I like explaining things . . . and . . . I . . .
(Beat.)
JEFF: This is BS, Scotty.
SCOTTY: I don’t think so.
JEFF: You’re just tired or something.
Come to Harvard next year with me then be President of the United States like a good boy.
SCOTTY: God I’m an asshole! I’m like: Me me me, I haven’t even asked:
How is it?
JEFF: Oh—it’s fantastic.
SCOTTY: Really?
JEFF: It’s amazing.
SCOTTY: No kidding?
JEFF: You saw The Paper Chase: It’s a Kafkaesque nightmare!
SCOTTY: Oh.
Do you see much of Caroline?
JEFF: . . . Not that much.
SCOTTY: Why not?
JEFF: You know, she’s in the English department . . .
SCOTTY: Right.
Which is located on Harvard’s Detroit campus?
JEFF: No, it’s just . . . whatever . . .
And she’s seeing a lot of this guy in the business school named Craig.
SCOTTY: Shit. I’m
JEFF: No, it’s
SCOTTY: She’s with this lout instead of
JEFF: Yeah.
Well, actually, he’s a pretty good guy.
You know: As good as a guy in the business school named Craig can be
SCOTTY: Shit.
But you looked really happy with her.
JEFF: . . . Yeah
. . . So next year in Cambridge.
SCOTTY: Except I really don’t think I want to be a lawyer.
JEFF: I know I don’t want to be a lawyer.
But it’s good for so many other things
SCOTTY: Such as?
JEFF: Not having to do anything else for three years
. . .
It’s kinda lonely there?
Like there aren’t any people really?
SCOTTY: You’ll adjust.
It’s only been one semester.
(Deflated beat.)
JEFF: So okay—even if she’s psychotic and not coming to dinner, Ilana’s still coming to the club with us, right?
SCOTTY: I think I’m a little wiped for the club, bud—
JEFF: But—
SCOTTY: You can go
JEFF: Without you?
SCOTTY: Yeah.
JEFF: That’s preposterous.
SCOTTY: Why?
JEFF: They won’t even let me through the door, Scotty
SCOTTY: You’re absurd
JEFF: And what would I do even if they did?
I mean: What would I do?
SCOTTY: . . . Take Ilana.
She likes you better than she does me these / days, any
JEFF: Yeah, right
SCOTTY: Really, you have my blessing.
JEFF: . . .
That’ll never happen.
(Pause.)
(Sort of sad and irresolute) No, it’s okay.
(Beat.)
I’ve gotta call my parents
SCOTTY: Yeah, I wanna look in on Timmy, and it’ll be dinner before you know it.
JEFF (A joke): I presume we’ll be dressing for dinner.
SCOTTY (Not a joke): Yes.
JEFF: . . .
What?
SCOTTY (Shrugs): For Christmas, you know . . .
JEFF: You’re—no—really?
SCOTTY: Well: Christmas. You brought a suit, right?
(They look at each other.)
JEFF (As if it’s a put-on, maybe): Right.
Whatever.
A hallway. Jeff enters. He looks one way, the other. Suddenly, from off:
BEN’S VOICE: A fucking string of phony rubies!
(Jeff is stilled by this.)
JEFF: What?
To kitchen. Faye and Julie sit at the table. Julie’s hands clasp Faye’s. Faye has been crying but now has mastered it.
FAYE: I’m so sorry . . .
JULIE: No—no—
FAYE: I’ve always tried not to be the woman at the party having the nervous breakdown in the kitchen. It’s been a point of pride.
JULIE: No, Faye, you’re going through a hard time.
FAYE: But you have so much to do: your goose.
JULIE: The goose is resting.
FAYE (Nods): . . . I’m sure that means something.
JULIE: I’m all yours. (Beat) Your mother—do they know—how long—
FAYE: A couple of weeks.
A couple of days.
Tonight.
JULIE: I’m so sorry.
FAYE: Ach, what’s the difference?
I was her chosen one. Even more than Benny.
It was always like that.
Until Mort. Morty!
What can I say? I’m a person in a farce, that’s all there is to it.
JULIE: You aren’t
FAYE: Morty was sitting at that bar, monosyllabic with the T-shirt, I was drunk, I assumed he was an Abstract Expressionist. Farce! Cold light of morning he turns out to be a boy from the neighborhood. Two blocks away: I never saw him.
Meanwhile, Shelley was started.
In the throes of a terrible misunderstanding.
I was so afraid when I told Rivka. I was trembling. Do you know what she did?
She offered me my choice of two underhanded doctors.
How she knew them I have no idea.
But I was afraid I’d die.
JULIE: Of course / you were
FAYE: I was afraid I’d die, Julie.
I was a girl from the neighborhood. Despite Hunter College.
Which ended, all at once.
I wasn’t her chosen one anymore.
And the next thirty years she looked for ways to hurt me.
As if that’s needed.
Mort. Shelley.
JULIE: But you love them. You love Mort.
FAYE: No.
That was never part of it on either side.
It’s not a Tevye-Golde thing.
Thirty years pass.
“Do You Love Me?”
Not really.
What we have is a mutual appreciation of our situation.
We function.
We love something.
Order. The responsibilities entaile
d.
What? I should be like those dames in Great Neck, all of a sudden they’ve developed needs? Just so their husbands won’t be able to fulfill them?
What would that get me?
So I divorce Morty:
Next day, Armand Assante sends me a bouquet of roses?
It ain’t happenin’.
I appreciate Morty’s qualities.
He’s a solid man.
But let’s not insist on love.
The grand gesture? The little gesture? Not in him.
And when it comes to Shelley, I’m nothing short of a madwoman.
JULIE: You’re not a madwoman. You’re a lovely, bright, rational person who at the moment is going through a hard time.
FAYE: A madwoman.
Do you know what I did just now?
JULIE: What?
FAYE: I left her with that boy—that Scotty friend.
JULIE: Jeff?
FAYE: As if for a hemidemisemiquaver of time that could seem like a sensible thought? Madness!
What can we expect from me next? “Prime Minister Trudeau, have you met my daughter Shelley?”
JULIE: It probably won’t go / that far.
FAYE: And the thing is, I’m not by nature a malcontent.
JULIE: I know you / aren’t
FAYE: I’ve sought out the alleviations that were offered.
That ashram. Ridiculous. But I went.
JULIE: I remember.
FAYE: Two years in a consciousness-raising group.
Jesus—did you ever join a—
JULIE: No. I knew some of the actual people so I didn’t need to
FAYE: Ignominious! Ig. No. Minious!
I was hauling off to Hewlett, to Woodmere—
JULIE: Woodmere!
FAYE: These yentas and their rec rooms. And they’d send an “expert.” “He never takes out the garbage,” Sadie says. “Sadie here has an interesting point,” says the expert. Oh yes. Would that Mary Wollstonecraft had had the benefit of Sadie; everything’d be different.
There was a newsletter: a solid field of exclamation points. Plus a poet-in-residence. I have her masterpiece by heart:
They call us glib
And Adam’s Rib
But here’s the squib
And it’s no fib
We’re changin’ the world
With Women’s Lib!
What was I supposed to do with that?
One night at McSorley’s, I was ignored by e. e. cummings himself and they’re giving me “here’s the squib and it’s no fib.”
It was just a reminder of loss.
JULIE: No, Faye.
FAYE: What can I do?
I’m a character in a farce.
I’m cursed. (A shuddering sigh)
Your mother was cold, wasn’t she?
JULIE: I don’t know that I’d say she was cold, exactly.
The Assembled Parties Page 3