27 Wagons Full of Cotton and Other Plays (23 page)

M
AN:
(
presses his mouth to her throat.
)
Come on back to bed with me!

W
OMAN
:
I
want to go away, I want to go away!
(
He releases her and she crosses to center of room sobbing uncontrollably. She sits down on the bed. He sighs and leans out the window, the light flickering beyond him, the rain coming down harder. The Woman shivers and crosses her arms against her breasts. Her sobbing dies out but she breathes with effort. Light flickers and wind whines coldly. The Man remains leaning out. At last she says to him softly—
)
Come back to bed. Come on back to bed, baby . . . (
He turns his lost face to her as—
)

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Something Unspoken

CHARACTERS

M
ISS
C
ORNELIA
S
COTT

M
ISS
G
RACE
L
ANCASTER

Something Unspoken

S
CENE:
Miss Cornelia Scott, 60, a wealthy southern spinster, is seated at a small mahogany table which is set for two. The other place, not yet occupied, has a single rose in a crystal vase before it. Miss Scott’s position at the table is flanked by a cradle phone, a silver tray of mail, and an ornate silver coffee urn. An imperial touch is given by purple velvet drapes directly behind her figure at the table. A console phonograph is at the edge of lighted area.

At rise of the curtain she is dialing a number on the phone.

CORNELIA:
Is this Mrs. Horton Reid’s residence? I am calling for Miss Cornelia Scott. Miss Scott is sorry that she will not be able to attend the meeting of the Confederate Daughters this afternoon as she woke up this morning with a sore throat and has to remain in bed, and will you kindly give her apologies to Mrs. Reid for not letting her know sooner. Thank you. Oh, wait a moment! I think Miss Scott has another message.

(
Grace Lancaster enters the lighted area. Cornelia raises her hand in a warning gesture.
)

—What is it, Miss Scott? (
There is a brief pause
)
Oh. Miss Scott would like to leave word for Miss Esmeralda Hawkins to call her as soon as she arrives. Thank you. Goodbye. (
She hangs up.
)
You see I am having to impersonate my secretary this morning!

G
RACE:
The light was so dim it didn’t wake me up.

(
Grace Lancaster is 40 or 45, faded but still pretty. Her
blonde hair, greying slightly, her pale eyes, her thin figure, in a pink silk dressing-gown, give her an insubstantial quality in sharp contrast to Miss Scott’s Roman grandeur. There is between the two women a mysterious tension, an atmosphere of something unspoken.
)

C
ORNELIA:
I’ve already opened the mail.

G
RACE:
Anything of interest?

C
ORNELIA:
A card from Thelma Peterson at Mayo’s.

G
RACE:
Oh, how is Thelma?

C
ORNELIA:
She says she’s “progressing nicely,” whatever that indicates.

G
RACE:
Didn’t she have something removed?

C
ORNELIA:
Several things, I believe.

G
RACE:
Oh, here’s the “Fortnightly Review of Current Letters!"

C
ORNELIA:
Much to my astonishment. I thought I had cancelled my subscription to that publication.

G
RACE:
Really, Cornelia?

C
ORNELIA:
Surely you remember. I cancelled my subscription immediately after the issue came out with that scurrilous attack on my cousin Cecil Tutwiler Bates, the only dignified novelist the South has produced since Thomas Nelson Page.

G
RACE:
Oh, yes, I do remember. You wrote a furious letter of protest to the editor of the magazine and you received such a conciliatory reply from an associate editor named Caroline Something or Other that you were completely mollified and cancelled the cancellation!

C
ORNELIA:
I have never been mollified by conciliatory replies, never completely and never even partially, and if I wrote to the editor-in-chief and was answered by an associate editor, my reaction to that piece of impertinence would hardly be what you call “mollified.”

G
RACE:
(
She changes the subject.
)
Oh, here’s the new catalogue
from the Gramophone Shoppe in Atlanta!

C
ORNELIA:
(
She concedes a point.
)
Yes, there it is.

G
RACE:
I see you’ve checked several items.

C
ORNELIA:
I think we ought to build up our collection of Lieder.

G
RACE:
You’ve checked a Sibelius that we already have.

C
ORNELIA:
It’s getting a little bit scratchy. (
She inhales deeply and sighs, her look fastened upon the silent phone.
)
You’ll also notice that I’ve checked a few operatic selections.

G
RACE:
(
excitedly
)
Where, which ones, I don’t see them!

C
ORNELIA:
Why are you so excited over the catalogue, dear?

G
RACE:
I adore phonograph records!

C
ORNELIA:
I wish you adored them enough to put them back in their proper places in albums.

G
RACE:
Oh, here’s the Vivaldi we wanted!

C
ORNELIA:
Not “we” dear. Just you.

G
RACE:
Not
you,
Cornelia?

C
ORNELIA:
I think Vivaldi’s a very thin shadow of Bach.

G
RACE:
How strange that I should have the impression you—(
The phone rings.
)
—
Shall I answer?

C
ORNELIA:
If you will be so kind.

G
RACE:
(
lifting receiver
)
Miss Scott’s
residence! (
This announcement is made in a tone of reverence, as though mentioning a seat of holiness.
)
Oh, no, no, this is Grace, but Cornelia is right by my side. (
She passes the phone.
)
Esmeralda Hawkins.

C
ORNELIA:
(
grimly
)
I’ve been expecting her call, (
into phone
)
Hello, Esmeralda, my dear. I’ve been expecting your call. Now where are you calling me from? Of course I know that you’re calling me from the meeting, ça
va sans dire, ma petite! Ha ha! But from which phone in the house, there’s two, you know, the one in the downstairs hall and the one in the chatelaine’s boudoir where the ladies will probably be removing their wraps. Oh. You’re on the
downstairs’, are you? Well, by this time I presume that practically all the daughters have assembled. Now go upstairs and call me back from there so we can talk with a little more privacy, dear, as I want to make my position very clear before the meeting commences. Thank you, dear. (
She hangs up and looks grimly into space.
)

G
RACE:
The—Confederate Daughters?

C
ORNELIA:
Yes! They’re holding the Annual Election today.

G
RACE:
Oh, how exciting! Why aren’t you at the meeting?

C
ORNELIA:
I preferred not to go.

G
RACE:
You preferred
not
to go?

C
ORNELIA:
Yes, I preferred not
to go . . .
(
She touches her chest breathing heavily as if she had run upstairs.
)

G
RACE:
But it’s the annual election of officers!

C
ORNELIA:
Yes! I told you it was! (
Grace drops the spoon. Cornelia cries out and jumps a little.
)

G
RACE:
I’m so sorry! (
She rings the bell for a servant.
)

C
ORNELIA:
Intrigue, intrigue and duplicity, revolt me so that I wouldn’t be able to breathe in the same atmosphere! (
Grace rings the bell louder.
)
Why are you ringing that bell? You know Lucinda’s not here!

G
RACE:
I’m so sorry. Where has Lucinda gone?

C
ORNELIA:
(
in a hoarse whisper, barely audible
)
There’s a big colored funeral in town. (
She clears her throat violently and repeats the statement.
)

G
RACE:
Oh, dear. You have that nervous laryngitis.

C
ORNELIA:
No sleep, no sleep last night.

(
The phone screams at her elbow. She cries out and thrusts it from her as if it were on fire.
)

G
RACE:
(
She picks up the phone.
)
Miss Scott’s residence. Oh. Just a moment, please.

C
ORNELIA:
(
snatching phone
)
Esmeralda, are you upstairs now?

G
RACE:
(
in a loud whisper
)
It isn’t Esmeralda, it’s Mrs.
C. C. Bright!

C
ORNELIA:
One moment, one moment, one moment! (
She thrusts phone back at Grace with a glare of fury.
)
How dare you put me on the line with that woman!

G
RACE:
Cornelia, I didn’t, I was just going to ask you if you—

C
ORNELIA:
Hush!
(
She springs back from the table, glaring across it.
)
—
Now give me that phone. (
She takes it, and says coldly:
)
What can I do for you, please? No. I’m afraid that my garden will not be open to the Pilgrims this spring. I think the cultivation of gardens is an esthetic hobby and not a competitive sport. Individual visitors will be welcome if they call in advance so that I can arrange for my gardener to show them around, but no bands of Pilgrims, not after the devastation my garden suffered last spring—Pilgrims coming with dogs—picking flowers and—You’re entirely welcome, yes, goodbye! (
She returns the phone to Grace.
)

G
RACE:
I think the election would have been less of a strain if you’d gone to it, Cornelia.

C
ORNELIA:
I don’t know what you are talking about.

G
RACE:
Aren’t you up for office?

C
ORNELIA: “
Up for office"? What is “up for office"?

G
RACE:
Why, ha ha!—
running
for—something?

C
ORNELIA:
Have you ever known me to “
run”
for anything, Grace? Whenever I’ve held an office in a society or club it’s been at the
insistence
of the members because I really have an
aversion
to holding office. But this is a different thing, a different thing altogether. It’s a test of something. You see I have known for some time, now, that there is a little group, a
clique,
in the Daughters, which is hostile to me!

G
RACE:
Oh, Cornelia, I’m sure you must be mistaken.

C
ORNELIA:
No
.
There is a movement against me.

G
RACE:
A movement? A movement against you?

C
ORNELIA:
An organized movement to keep me out of any important office.

G
RACE:
But haven’t you always held some important office in the Chapter?

C
ORNELIA:
I have never been
Regent
of it!

G
RACE:
Oh, you want to be
Regent?

C
ORNELIA:
No
. Y
ou misunderstand me. I don’t “
want
”
to be Regent.

G
RACE:
Oh?

C
ORNELIA:
I don’t “want” to be anything whatsoever. I simply want to break up this movement against me and for that purpose I have rallied my forces.

G
RACE:
Your—
forces?
(
Her lips twitch slightly as if she had an hysterical impulse to smile.
)

C
ORNELIA:
Yes. I still have some friends in the chapter who have resisted the movement.

G
RACE:
Oh?

C
ORNELIA:
I have the solid support of all the older Board members.

G
RACE:
Why, then, I should think you’d have nothing to worry about!

C
ORNELIA:
The Chapter has expanded too rapidly lately. Women have been admitted that couldn’t get into a front pew at the Second Baptist Church! And that’s the disgraceful truth . . .

G
RACE:
But since it’s really a patriotic society . . .

C
ORNELIA:
My dear Grace, there are two chapters of the Confederate Daughters in the city of Meridian. There is the Forrest chapter, which is for social riff-raff, and there is
this
chapter which was
supposed
to have a
little
bit of
distinction!
I’m not a snob. I’m nothing if not democratic. You know
that! But—
(
The phone rings. Cornelia reaches for it, then pushes it to Grace.
)

G
RACE:
Miss Scott’s residence! Oh, yes, yes, just a moment!

(
She passes phone to Cornelia.
)
It’s Esmeralda Hawkins.

C
ORNELIA:
(
into phone
)
Are you upstairs now, dear? Well, I wondered, it took you so long to call back. Oh, but I thought you said the luncheon was over. Well, I’m glad that you fortified yourself with a bite to eat. What did the buffet consist of? Chicken à la king! Wouldn’t you know it! That is so characteristic of poor Amelia! With bits of pimiento and tiny mushrooms in it? What did the ladies counting their calories do! Nibbled around the edges? Oh, poor dears!—and afterwards I suppose there was lemon sherbet with lady-fingers? What, lime sherbet! And
no
lady-fingers?
What a departure!
What a
shocking
apostasy! I’m quite stunned! Ho ho ho . . . (
She reaches shakily for her cup.
)
Now what’s going on? Discussing the Civil Rights Program? Then they won’t take the vote for at least half an hour!—Now Esmeralda, I
do
hope that you understand my position clearly. I don’t wish to hold any office in the chapter unless it’s by acclamation. You know what that means, don’t you? It’s a parliamentary term. It means when someone is desired for an office so unanimously that no vote has to be taken. In other words, elected automatically, simply by nomination, unopposed. Yes, my dear, it’s just as simple as that. I have served as Treasurer for three terms, twice as Secretary, once as Chaplain—and what a dreary office that was with those long-drawn prayers for the Confederate dead!—Altogether I’ve served on the Board for, let’s see, fourteen years!—Well, now, my dear, the point is simply this. If Daughters feel that I have demonstrated my capabilities and loyalty strongly enough that I should simply be named as Regent without a vote being taken—by unanimous acclamation!—why, then, of course I would feel obliged to accept. . . (
Her voice trembles with emotion.
)
—But
if, on the other hand, the—uh—
clique!—
and you know the ones I mean!—is bold enough
to propose someone else for the office—Do you understand my position? In that eventuality, hard as it is to imagine,—I prefer to bow out of the picture entirely! —The moment another nomination is made and seconded, my own must be withdrawn, at once, unconditionally! Is that quite understood, Esmeralda? Then good! Go back downstairs to the meeting. Digest your chicken à la king, my dear, and call me again on the upstairs phone as soon as there’s something to tell me. (
She hangs up and stares grimly into space. Grace lifts a section of grapefruit on a tiny silver fork.
)