The Early Ayn Rand (51 page)

BRECKENRIDGE: Who’s been talking to you? Steve’s influence?

ADRIENNE: Steve? You know what I think of Steve. When would I talk to him? When do I ever see him?

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Shrugging
] It just sounds like him.

ADRIENNE: Do you know what made me speak to you today? That stupendous thing you announced. I thought . . . you’re doing so much for humanity, and yet . . . why is it that the people who worry most about mankind have the least concern for any actual human being?

BRECKENRIDGE: My dear, try to understand. I’m acting for your own good. I can’t let you ruin your career.

ADRIENNE: Let me go, Walter. Give me my freedom.

BRECKENRIDGE: Freedom—for what? Freedom to hurt yourself.

ADRIENNE: Yes!—if necessary. To make mistakes. To fail. To be alone. To be rotten. To be selfish. But to be free.

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Rising
] No, Adrienne.

ADRIENNE: [
In a dead, flat voice
] Walter . . . do you remember . . . last summer . . . when I ran my car into a tree? . . . Walter, it was not an accident. . . .

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Severely
] I refuse to understand what you mean. You’re being indecent.

ADRIENNE: [
Screams
] Goddamn you! Goddamn you, you rotten, holy, saintly bastard!

INGALLS: [
Appearing at the top of the stairs
] You’ll ruin your voice, Adrienne—and you won’t be able to do
Little Women
again.

BRECKENRIDGE: [
As
INGALLS
comes down the stairs
] I believe this is the kind of performance you’ll enjoy, Steve. So I’ll leave Adrienne to you. You’ll find you have a great deal in common. [
Exits Right
]

INGALLS: The acoustics in this room are great, Adrienne. Does wonders for your diaphragm—and your vocabulary.

ADRIENNE: [
Stands looking at him with hatred
] Listen, you. I have something to tell you. Now. I don’t care. If you want to make wisecracks, I’ll give you something real to wisecrack about.

INGALLS: Go ahead.

ADRIENNE: I know what you think of me—and you’re right. I’m just a lousy ham who’s done nothing but trash all her life. I’m no better than a slut—not because I haven’t any talent, but worse: because I have and sold it. Not even for money, but for someone’s stupid, drooling kindness—and I’m more contemptible than an honest whore!

INGALLS: That’s a pretty accurate description.

ADRIENNE: Well, that’s what I am. I know also what you are. You’re a hard, cold, ruthless egoist. You’re just a laboratory machine—all chromium and stainless steel. You’re as efficient and bright and vicious as a car going ninety miles an hour. Only the car would bump if it ran over someone’s body. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t even know it. You’re going ninety miles every one of the twenty-four hours—through a desert island, as far as you’re concerned. A desert island full of charts, blueprints, coils, tubes, and batteries. You’ve never known a human emotion. You’re worse than any of us. I think you’re the rottenest person I’ve ever met. I’m inexcusably, contemptibly, completely in love with you and have been for years. [
She stops. He stands motionless, looking at her silently. She snaps:
] Well? [
He does not move
] You’re not going to pass up a chance like this for one of your brilliant wisecracks? [
He does not move
] Shouldn’t you answer—something?

INGALLS: [
His voice is very soft and very earnest. It is the first sound of simple sincerity to be heard from him:
] Adrienne . . . [
She looks at him, astonished
] I am thinking that I haven’t heard it. I can’t answer. Had you said it to me yesterday—or the day after tomorrow—I’d answer. Today, I can’t.

ADRIENNE: Why?

INGALLS: You know, sound vibrations never die in space. Let’s think that what you said hasn’t reached me yet. It will reach me day after tomorrow. Then—if I’m still able to hear it and if you still want me to hear it—I’ll give you my answer.

ADRIENNE: Steve . . . what’s the matter?

INGALLS: Day after tomorrow, Adrienne. Perhaps sooner. But if not then—then never.

ADRIENNE: Steve, I don’t understa—

INGALLS: [
Picking up a magazine from the table, in his normal, conversational tone
] Have you seen this week’s
World
? There’s a very interesting article on the progressive income tax. It demonstrates how the tax works for the protection of mediocrity. . . . The problem of taxation, of course, is extremely complex.

ADRIENNE: [
She is turned away from him, her shoulders sagging a little, but she does her best to follow his lead and speaks obediently, in as good an imitation of a conversational tone as she can manage—but her voice sounds very tired
] Yes. I’ve never been able to figure out an income tax blank or an insurance policy.

INGALLS: Well? What do you think of the house, Helen? HELEN: [
Without enthusiasm
] It’s lovely. BRECKENRIDGE: [
Proudly
] She couldn’t think of one thing that I hadn’t thought of already.

INGALLS: As usual.

BRECKENRIDGE: Oh say, I mustn’t forget. I’ll tell you all while Billy isn’t here; it’s a little surprise for him. Tonight, at ten o’clock, when it gets dark, I shall give you a demonstration of my invention. Its first public demonstration. We’ll start celebrating the Fourth of July tonight, a little in advance. We’ll have fireworks—I’ve had them lined up—[
Points
]—over there, on the other side of the lake. I’ll set them off—from the garden—without touching them, without wires, by remote control—by mere electrical impulses through the air.

TONY: Could I see the machine?

BRECKENRIDGE: No, Tony. Nobody can see the machine till tomorrow. Don’t try to find it. You won’t. But you will all be the first witnesses of its action. [
Shrugs gaily
] Think of it! If someday they make a movie of my life, you will all be impersonated in that scene.

SERGE: They always make the lives of the great men in the cinema.

INGALLS: All that Walter needs now to be a great man is to get assassinated.

HELEN: Steve!

INGALLS: Well, he came pretty close to it once—so I guess that’ll have to do.

HELEN: He . . . did what?

INGALLS: Didn’t you know that Walter almost got bumped off—about a month ago?

HELEN: [
Aghast
] No! . . .

INGALLS: Oh, yes. Someone’s tried to get him. Under very mysterious circumstances, too.

BRECKENRIDGE: Just an accident, probably. Why talk about it?

HELEN: Please tell me, Steve.

INGALLS: There isn’t really much to tell. Walter and Serge drove down to Stamford, one evening, and stopped at the laboratory, and dragged me down here to see the house—the “Dawsons’ ” house—it was just being finished then. Well, the three of us got separated, looking around, and then I heard a shot—and I saw Walter picking up his hat, with a hole through it. It was a new hat, too.

HELEN: Oh! . . .

INGALLS: Well, we called the police, and all the building workers were searched, but we never found the man who did it or the gun.

HELEN: But it’s fantastic! Walter doesn’t have an enemy in the world!

INGALLS: I guess you never can tell.

HELEN: And then?

INGALLS: That’s all. . . . Oh, yes, there was another funny thing. I had a bag in the car—just a small bag with some old junk in it. When we got back to the car, we found the lock of that bag broken open. There was nothing inside that anyone would want, and whoever did it hadn’t even looked inside, because the things were just as I’d left them, but the lock was broken. We never figured that out, either.

HELEN: Walter! . . . Why didn’t you tell me about this?

BRECKENRIDGE: That is precisely why, dear—so that you wouldn’t be upset, as you are now. Besides, it was nothing. An accident or a crank. I told Curtiss about it—told him not to admit any strangers to the house—but nobody came and nothing happened.

INGALLS: I told Walter that he should carry a gun—just in case—but he wouldn’t do it.

HELEN: But you should, Walter!

BRECKENRIDGE: I do. I got one.

INGALLS: I don’t believe it. You know, Walter is afraid of guns.

BRECKENRIDGE: Nonsense.

INGALLS: You said so yourself.

BRECKENRIDGE: [
Indicating cabinet
] Look in that drawer.

INGALLS: You’re right—for once. [
Examining the gun
] Nice little job. That will take care of any—emergency.

HELEN: Oh, put it away! I don’t like them myself.

TONY: It doesn’t make sense. A man like Mr. Breckenridge—why would anyone—

BRECKENRIDGE: Of course it doesn’t make sense. And I don’t see why Steve had to bring that up—today of all days. . . . Well, shall we go on to look at the grounds? Wait till you see the grounds, Helen!

HELEN: [
Rising
] Yes, of course.

BRECKENRIDGE: Adrienne, my dear—coming?

ADRIENNE: [
In a flat voice
] Yes.

BRECKENRIDGE: No hard feelings, of course?

ADRIENNE: No.

BRECKENRIDGE: I knew you’d be all right. I wasn’t angry. An actress’ temper is like a summer storm.

ADRIENNE: Yes.

HELEN: [
Stops at the French doors, turns
] Coming, Steve?

INGALLS: Helen . . .

HELEN: Yes?

INGALLS: You are not happy, are you?

HELEN: [
With amused reproach
] Steve! That’s one of those questions that should never be answered—one way or the other.

INGALLS: I’m asking it only . . . in self-defense.

HELEN: In . . . your
own
defense?

INGALLS: Yes.

HELEN: [
Decisively
] Don’t you think we’d better join the others?

INGALLS: No. [
She does not move. She stands looking at him. After a moment, he adds
:] You know what I’m going to say.

HELEN: No. I don’t know . . . I don’t know. . . . [
Involuntarily
] I don’t want to know . . .!

INGALLS: I love you, Helen.

HELEN: [
Trying to be amused
] Really, Steve, we’re about ten years too late, aren’t we? I’m sure I am. I thought things like that weren’t being said anymore. At least . . . not to me. . . .

BRECKENRIDGE’S VOICE: [
Calling from garden
] Helen! . . .

INGALLS: I have wanted to say it for more than ten years.

HELEN: It’s too . . . foolish . . . and conventional, isn’t it? My husband’s partner . . . and . . . and I’m the perfect wife who’s always had everything . . . INGALLS: Have you?

HELEN: . . . and you’ve never seemed to notice that I existed. . . .

INGALLS: Even if I know it’s hopeless—

HELEN: Of course it’s hopeless. . . . It . . . it
should
be hopeless. . . . [
There is the sound of voices approaching from the garden.
INGALLS
moves suddenly to take her in his arms
] Steve! . . . Steve, they’re coming back! They’re—

INGALLS: I’ve always wanted to know what one really did at such a moment.

SERGE: [
Choking with indignation
] This . . . this . . . it is monstrous! . . . It is unspeakable! . . . It is—

BRECKENRIDGE: [
With great poise
] Now, Serge. No hysterics please. From anyone. Let us act grown-up. [
To
HELEN
, gently
] I’m sorry, Helen. I know this is harder for you than for any of us. I shall try to make it easier, if I can. [
Notices
ADRIENNE
, who looks more stunned and crushed than all the others
] What’s the matter, Adrienne?

ADRIENNE: [
Barely able to answer
] Nothing . . . nothing. . . .

BRECKENRIDGE: Steve, I should like to speak to you alone.

INGALLS: I have wanted to speak to you alone, Walter, for a long time.

 

CURTAIN

 

SCENE 2

SERGE: It is terrible. It is too terrible and I am sick. I cannot help that it should make me sick.

BRECKENRIDGE: You’re young, Serge. . . .

SERGE: Is it only the young who have the feeling of decency?