The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (21 page)

CHICKEN
: But you do go out on the streets.

MYRTLE
: I can’t stay inside all day. I guess I live a strange life, I don’t know how to describe it. Each new city I got to, I find a girl-friend to bum around town with. When I wake up I call her or she calls me, and if we’re not working, or get off work at five, we make a date to meet somewhere and just,
just—kill
time together. No special plan, you know. We eat together and go to a movie and wind up in some bar we’re used to, and always meet a man or a couple of men there. What’s strange about my life is each day is like the day before or the next day. Just killing time, no change except time going. It begun to scare me, the way the days and nights all seemed like one day and night gone over and over and over. So, then I met Lot in a drugstore in downtown Memphis. He was looking through movie magazines on the magazine rack in that Walgreen’s. We struck up a conversation. He looked like a kid, my girlfriend Georgia said I was robbing the cradle. Well, I have
this maternal chord in me and he touched it. It was my birthday. I don’t suppose it would have happened except on my birthday. My birthday reminded me how long I’d been just wand’ring around on the loose, each day like the other and no change in the future except time passing me by. I was scared. And Lot touched this maternal chord in me. So I took Lot home to my place and he spent the night with me, slept in my arms like a baby.
—When
he woke up he said to me, “Let’s get married.” At first I laughed, it seemed ridiculous to me. But then I thought, oh, well, as the fellow says, there’s a hell of a lot more to this business of sex than two people jumping up and down on each other’s eggs.

CHICKEN
: So you said “Yes.”

MYRTLE
: Yes, I did, I said yes. And we married yesterday and drove down here this morning.
—The
trouble with my life is I don’t plan it, it’s just an unplanned thing that happens to me. A thing like that can’t go on forever, you know.

LOT
[
from above
]: Myrtle! Myrtle!

MYRTLE
: Excuse me while I go up there and see what he wants.

Y’know what he wanted? He wanted to call me a whore, that’s all he wanted. I won’t stand being called names, so I went right out. He’s jealous because we’re down here talking. I said, I asked him, who else but Chicken is going to save me from drowning? Lot could never get me up on the roof if the house is flooded.

CHICKEN
: I’ll tell you how I look at it. A man can’t be soft in this world. I think that life just plain don’t care for the weak. Or the soft. A man and his life both got to be made out of the same stuff or one or the other will break, and the one that breaks won’t be life. Because life’s rock. So man’s got to be rock, too. Life, rock: man, rock. Because if they both ain’t rock, the one that’s not rock won’t be life. The one that’s not rock will be man, so man’s got to be rock, too. The soft one is broke when the two things come together, and life is never the soft one. And this is how I look at it, too. There’s nothing in the world,
nothing in this whole kingdom of earth, that can compare with one thing, and that one thing is what’s able to happen between a man and a woman, just that thing, nothing more, is perfect. The rest is crap, all of the rest is almost nothing but crap. That one thing’s good. And if you never had nothing else but that, no money, no property, no success in the world, but still had
that
, why then I say this life would still be worth living, and you had better believe it. Yes, you could come home to a house like a shack, in blazing heat, and look for water and not find a drop to drink, and look for food and find not a single crumb of it. But if on the bed you seen you a woman waiting, maybe not even very young or good-looking, and she looked up and said to you, “Daddy, I want
it”—
Why, then I say you got a square deal out of life, and whoever don’t think so has just not found the right woman.
—That’s
how I look at it, that’s the way that I see it.

LOT
[
from above
]:
Myrtle!

MYRTLE
: I guess I better go back up there.

CHICKEN
: Go on up an’ make him stop that bawling!

MYRTLE
[
calling
]:
Awright, awright, I’m coming!
[
She goes upstairs
.]

CHICKEN
: Spiritchel gates, you’re no where . . . .

MYRTLE
: Chicken! Oh, my God. Lot’s fighting to breathe!

CHICKEN
[
entering kitchen
]: That lung must have broke down on him.

MYRTLE
: My God, Chicken, what am I going to do?

CHICKEN
: Well, you could call the doctor.

MYRTLE
: Is there a doctor?

MYRTLE
: Where? Where is the doctor?

CHICKEN
: Half a mile down the road.

MYRTLE
: What’s his telephone number?

CHICKEN
: It’s on the wall.

MYRTLE
: Which, which wall?

CHICKEN
: Which wall do you think it would be on? Don’t you think it would be on the wall which the phone is on?

LOT
[
weakly, from above
]: Myrtle! Myrtle! Myrtle!

MYRTLE
: What is the name of the doctor?

CHICKEN
: His name is Stenson.

MYRTLE
: Dr. Stenson?

CHICKEN
: That’s right, Dr. Stenson.

MYRTLE
: You don’t remember the number?

CHICKEN
: It’s on the wall by the phone.

MYRTLE
: I can’t see good. Turn the lamp up higher.

Now! Now, where?

CHICKEN
: Right in front of your nose.

MYRTLE
: This wall is covered with numbers. Names and numbers. Gallaway! Is that it?

CHICKEN
: Gallaway is the girl I laid last summer. That told them lies about me.

MYRTLE
: What was the name, then? What was the name of that doctor?

LOT
: Myrtle! Myrtle!

MYRTLE
: Tell me the name again.

CHICKEN
: The name is Stenson.

MYRTLE
: Oh, yes, Doctor. Stenson. I don’t see no Stenson here.

CHICKEN
: You must need glasses.

MYRTLE
: Yes, I do, I’m near-sighted.

CHICKEN
: I’ll help you out a little. Here is the number.

MYRTLE
: Oh! Four-eight-two is the number!

CHICKEN
: Four eighty two is the number.

MYRTLE
: Give it to me again. I can’t get hold of myself.

CHICKEN
: FOUR! EIGHTY! TWO!

MYRTLE
[
into the phone
]: Four eighty two! [
The phone is dead
.] HEY! OPERATOR!
OPER-A-TORR!—nobody
answers me, I cain’t git no answer!

CHICKEN
: Of course you can’t git no answer. That phone is deader than Lot, there’s no phone service in this county tonight. Did you think there was? Have you got any kind of a brain at all in your head?

MYRTLE
: How can you be so mean? Your ha’f brother’s dying up those stairs and you, you don’t do a thing!

CHICKEN
: Yeah, I do.

MYRTLE
: What?

CHICKEN
: Just what I’m doing. Standing here looking with love at the face of this kitchen clock and listening to its tick, ’cause the tick of this clock is like a song of angels ’cause each tick is the footstep of Lot’s death coming which makes me king of this place and everything on it.

LOT
[
weaker, more despairing
]: Chicken!

CHICKEN
: He’s given up calling you and’s calling for me.

MYRTLE
: He might as well call to a rock. [
Sounds from above
.]

CHICKEN
: Lissen, he’s out of his bed, he’s in the hall, crawling. Hear him up there crawling, as if there was somewhere to crawl to? He don’t know how to die no more’n he known how to live.

MYRTLE
: Put him back on his bed!

CHICKEN
: He wanted out of it, he’s
out
.
—
Crawling
.

MYRTLE
: I’m too weak to go up.

CHICKEN
: A woman can be weak and not be disgusting. But Lot’s birth register calls him male, and he’s weak. I don’t mean just now but always. I got no respect for weak, inferior people.

MYRTLE
: God,
he’s—crawling
downstairs! And I can’t go up to him!
—
CAN’T!

CHICKEN
: He’s crawling down on his belly.

MYRTLE
:
Oh, God, help me!
[
She rushes toward the stairs, then cries out and rushes back into the kitchen
.]
—
CAN’T!

CHICKEN
[
Catching hold of her
]: You want a man living, not dying.

Natural. Human. Nothing to be ashamed of. [
He kisses her. She falls sobbing to her knees
.]
—It’s
stopped, the gasping’s quit! It’s finished! [
He says this in a gravely triumphant way
.] Get up!

MYRTLE
: I
can’t!

CHICKEN
[
dropping her to the floor
]: Well, stay there while
I—
[
He goes up the stairs and lifts the lifeless body of Lot and carries it above the lighted level
.]

MYRTLE
: Oh, God, have mercy on
my—puzzled—soul
, my lost, sinful, puzzled, soul!

CHICKEN
: Myrtle?

MYRTLE
:
—Out
here, couldn’t stay in.

CHICKEN
: Well, come on in here, now, they’s things to take care of. Lot died on the stairs and I carried him up and put him in the hall. Now what I want you to do is go upstairs and make up the bed with clean sheets.

MYRTLE
: Please. I can’t. You do it.

CHICKEN
: No, you. You do it. I got something else to do.
—I’m
going outside now an’ have a look at my place.

MYRTLE
: Just,
just—go
up there with me?

CHICKEN
: Not right yet. Expect me up there later, after you’ve made up the bed. [
He goes out on the stoop and looks triumphantly about him. The flood-murmur is still rising, but frogs and crickets can be heard above it
.] That’s right, you frogs an’ crickets, sing it out! Chicken is king!

THE END

The first production of
I Never Get Dressed Till After Dark on Sundays
opened at The Cock Tavern Theatre in London, England on March 4, 2011. It was directed by Hamish MacDougall; the set and costume designs were by Mike Lee; the lighting and sound designs were by Phil Hewitt; the production stage manager was Lee Andrew Davies; and it was produced by Adam Spreadbury-Mahar and Dominic Haddock. The cast was as follows:

JANE
: Tye, Tye,
Oh—Christ
. . .

TYE
:
—Some
men would beat a chick un for less’n that, y’
know—
[
His voice is a deep southern drawl
.]

JANE
: All right, get out of bed and beat me up.

TYE
: Y’know that, babe? [
Pause: the actor comes out of character. Then, in a cultivated voice
.] May I speak?

DIRECTOR
: Is that a line in the play?

TYE
: It’s a request to make a comment on a line in the play that always sticks in my craw, it’s pointlessly cheap and off hand it’s not what I’d ever say to a girl of her class that I cared for.

PLAYWRIGHT
[
aside to himself
]: Should never have southern gentlemen in my plays.

DIRECTOR
[
calling out
]:
Sound, lights off!
—Mr
. Tysdale, I’m in total agreement. Your next line is one I’ve marked for a cut since I first read it.
It’s—gratuitously—prurient
.

PLAYWRIGHT
: “Gratuitously prurient”
is—egregiously—redundant
. Either it’s prurient or not.

DIRECTOR
[
as if conducting a seminar
]: What Mr. Tysdale means, if I may interpret him for you, is that there can be legitimate vulgarisms of speech in a play: They are vulgarisms which characterize; offensive to some people but still defensible. However in this script there
are vulgarities which are
prurient—gratuitously
, whether that phrase suits you or not, it happens to state clearly our objection to it.

TYE
: It’s the sort of line that loses you two or three critics: [
Snaps his fingers
.] like that.

DIRECTOR
: Yes, precisely, and I think a five-word line is more expendable than a single notice.

PLAYWRIGHT
: Considering the nature of the material, if we’re gonna lose notices on a line, we’ve already lost the ballgame and the ballpark and the home-team. Now, if I was being “gratuitously prurient,” he wouldn’t be wearing a slip, he’d be up there jay bird.

TYE
: I will be up here stark naked opening night, no, Monday, at the first preview.

PLAYWRIGHT
: In all but a few cases the public exposure of genitalia is gratuitously unattractive.

TYE
: Since I respect honesty in a performance, I don’t intend to compromise with this flesh-colored cache-sexe before an audience.

PLAYWRIGHT
: I reckon we better add Sunday matinees then. [
He rises
.] May I be excused to wash my hands while this matter of “gratuitous prurience” is being thrashed out amongst you? [
Exits somewhat unevenly up aisle
.]

TYE
: Arrogant old mother.

DIRECTOR
: Yes, quite. [
He crosses to the foot of the scaffold to state
.] Mr. Tysdale, of course you are playing the boy in the play, but you are not personally the boy and since the author’s still
living—

PLAYWRIGHT
[
from the aisle
]: Thanks.

DIRECTOR
: I’m afraid that until the line is deleted by the author, it will have to be delivered by the actor.

PLAYWRIGHT
[
at the back of the house
]: Hear, hear.

DIRECTOR
: Regardless of our mutual distaste. [
Then in a loud whisper
.] Of course you might forget it opening night.

TYE
: Right.

JANE
: Which cuts
my—

DIRECTOR
: We can’t continue a script conference at this late moment so I suggest
we—press
on.

TYE
[
resuming his position on the cot
]: Cue me, please.

JANE
:
Get up
.

TYE
:
—Can’t
you see I’m up?

JANE
: I don’t mean that kind of up, and don’t bring strip-show lewdness in here
this—late
Sunday afternoon.

TYE
[
again out of the play
]: Do you see what I mean, it’s right at the top of the play, a bit that creates a skin-flick atmosphere.

DIRECTOR
: I see, I know. Perhaps to take the curse off it we can synchronize this bit with a blue bird fluttering in through the gallery shutters, heh, heh.

DIRECTOR
: Sorry, light, sound, continue.

TYE
: Cue, Jane.

JANE
: No strip-show lewdness in here
this—late
Sunday afternoon.

TYE
[
suddenly grave
]: Babe, don’t mention the show to me t’day.

JANE
: I’d like to remind you that when we first stumbled into
this—crazy—co-habitation
, you promised me you’d quit the show in a week.

TYE
: For what? Tight as work is for a dude with five grades of school and no skill training from the Mississippi sticks?

JANE
: You could find something
less—publicly
embarrassing, like
a—filling
station attendant,
a—male
fashion model.

TYE
:
Model?
Ha!

JANE
: Don’t put it down, it’s a very lucrative occupation for a personable young
man—but
of course your choice of employment is no concern of mine now.

TYE
: Why, Babe?

JANE
: I’m not
babe
and not
chick
!

TYE
: You say you’re not my chick?

JANE
: I say I’m nobody’s chick.

TYE
: Any chick I have in my pad is my chick, Babe.

JANE
: This is my place, not your crash-pad. You
just—moved
in and stayed.

TYE
: I been in seven months.

JANE
: I still have priority here and receipts for the rent.

TYE
: I paid the rent this month.

JANE
: Half of it, for the first time: my savings being close to exhaustion as me.

What a hassle putting you to bed.

TYE
: You put me to bed last night?

JANE
: It wasn’t last night, it was late morning, near noon, and much too much exertion for someone in
my—condition
.

TYE
[
focusing on her more closely
]:
—Honey
, are you pregnant?

JANE
: No, Lord, no, who’d be fool enough to get pregnant by a Bourbon Street strip-show barker?

TYE
: When a chick talks about her condition don’t it mean she’s pregnant?

JANE
: All female conditions are not pregnancy, Tye. And no more Babe or chick to me, please, ‘cause I’m
not
. What I am
is—a
desperate young woman living with a young bum employed by gangsters and using my place as a depository for stolen goods. Well, they’re all packed. You’re packed, too. Get up and get rid of
that—tumescent
condition in the bathroom.

TYE
[
to the director
]: Here’s another I hate.

DIRECTOR
: This promises to be a very sticky run-through.

JANE
: I understand Tye’s feeling. We’re supposed to bring some pathos to a play
that’s—how’d
you put it? Gratuitously prurient? And at the first reading you said it would be cleaned up.

PLAYWRIGHT
[
sitting up a few inches
]: Have you ever been on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, Jane?

JANE
: I was at Mardi Gras once,
but—

PLAYWRIGHT
: But never heard or noticed
anything—what’s
the word? Prurient? Going on there in the Quarter?

DIRECTOR
: This is our last run-through before previews, the fat is on the fire, and I have a luncheon engagement on Long Island.

PLAYWRIGHT
:
That’s—vital
?

DIRECTOR
: I know that you don’t care for the carriage trade but they do include backers. Now let’s go through what is written and possibly after the notices, if we survive them, the Maestro will discover a blue pencil. Tye, your cue is “Get rid of that tumescent condition in the bathroom.”

TYE
:
—This
ain’t a piss hard-on.
—Come
back to bed.

JANE
: No, thank you. Your face is smeared with lipstick; also other parts of you, I didn’t know lip-rouge ever covered so
much—territory
. Were several involved? The complete company of ladies?

TYE
: I hones’ly don’ remember a’ fuckin’ thing after midnight.

JANE
: That I do believe. Have some coffee. It’s not instant, it’s percolated.

TYE
:
—Aw
? Whose birthday is it?

JANE
:
It’s—our
day
of—parting
.

TYE
: Aw, now, be sweet, Babe, please come back to bed, I need comfort,
not—New
Yawk langwidge
or—coffee
. . .

JANE
: I’ve been betrayed by
a—sensual
streak in my nature, susceptibility to touch,
and—you
have skin like a child.

TYE
: No shit.

JANE
: Yes, I must be
a—skin
freak. I suppose it’s your rural Southern breeding that’s endowed you with that stuff you’re covered with, too fine to be called skin, more like some rare stuff woven
by—who
talks like that?

PLAYWRIGHT
: Nobody I know but me.
—Once
I said, “Give me your tongue in my mouth like holy bread at communion.” Proceed from the skin bit, please.

DIRECTOR
:
Continue—your
drowsy numbness, Maestro, please.

PLAYWRIGHT
: Mmmm . . .

JANE
: Rare stuff woven
by—sanctified
caterpillars!

PLAYWRIGHT
: No variation, please.

JANE
: Is this real coffee?

DIRECTOR
: Yes.

JANE
: I’ll have a bit. [
She pours a cup and sips
.]

FIRST LADY TOURIST
: What’s this courtyard called?

SECOND LADY TOURIST
: Just courtyard and the date: 1812.

FIRST LADY TOURIST
: Imagine the antiquity of that!

THIRD LADY TOURIST
: Yes, and it’s the last item on the tour.

TYE
: Aw, Jane, come here and just hold me, I never had a rougher night in my life.

JANE
:
I—

TYE
: You?

JANE
: You returned here at daybreak and immediately fell on the floor. I somehow managed to haul you onto the bed and undress you, discovered the insatiable mouth prints on your, made an urgent phone call . . .

TYE
: Call?

JANE
: And then I packed your personal belongings and all that hot merchandise you’ve been holding here, put it all back in the boxes. I’d no idea how much has accumulated, this place has become like the storeroom of the Seven Thieves of Bagdad! Exertion of packing nearly blacked me out. Trembling,
sweating—had
to bathe and change and then get packed myself.

TYE
:
—
You
packed?
—Babe
?

JANE
: Yes, this is moving-day for us both, we’re both evacuating the premises, separately, “Babe.” It’s
after noon
.

TYE
: Look, if you’re knocked up, have the kid: I’m against abortion.

JANE
: On moral principles?

TYE
: Yeh, that’s it, you’re pregnant: don’t git an abortion: have the kid, Babe. I’d pull myself together for a kid.

JANE
: You wouldn’t, you didn’t for me.