The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (22 page)

FIRST LADY TOURIST
[
from below, very Southern
]: Martha, look at the fan-lights on those windows!

THIRD LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: This is the sweetest court in the Quarter, I don’t like the restored ones. How old is this courtyard?

TOURIST GUIDE
[
from below
]: Ladies, this is one of the oldest, most historic buildings in the Quarter.

SECOND LADY TOURIST
: Sweet little fountain here! Fish.

JANE
:
Those—
tourists
! If I’d known when I took this place it was over a tourist
attraction—
[
She slams the gallery doors: leans exhausted again them
.]

TYE
: It’s the festival, Babe, it ain’t
always—festival
.

JANE
:
Azalea—festival—ladies
. . .

TYE
: Gimme my cigarettes, Babe, ought to be some left in a pocket.

JANE
[
throwing his pants and fancy sport shirt
]: Here, your clothes, get in them.

TYE
: Not yet. It’s Sunday, Babe.

JANE
: I know and I skipped Mass.

TYE
: Won’t burn in hell for that, Babe.

JANE
: I suppose I
have—other
things
to—burn
for . . .

TYE
:
—Where’s
Beret? I like Beret to be here when I wake up.

JANE
: Not even a cat will wait ten, twelve hours for you to sleep off whatever you shot last night.
—How
did a girl well-educated and reasonably well brought up get involved in
this—oh
, I’m talking to myself.

TYE
: I hear you, Babe, and I see you.

JANE
: Not all of me: just a remnant. You’re not talking to me.

TYE
: Who else is in the room?

JANE
: Me! Jane!
—Do
you recognize the remnant?

TYE
: I see your elegance and hear your New Yawk langwidge.

JANE
:
Then—get
up and dressed.

TYE
: It’s not dark yet, Babe. Y’know I never get dressed till after dark on Sundays. It’s
a—rule
.

JANE
: The foundations of the republic aren’t based on it and
today—

TYE
: It’s a rule I stuck to all my life: think it started in childhood to avoid Sunday School
in—Friar’s
Point—Mississippi
. . .

JANE
[
cutting him off
]: Today has to be an exception. Drink your coffee.
I’m—expecting
a caller, very important to me.

TYE
: Fashion-designer?

JANE
: No. Buyer.
—To
look at my designs.
—I’ve
looked at them myself and they’re no good, I’m no good. I just had a flair, not a talent and the flair flared out,
I’m—finished
,
I’m—please
get dressed, be decent: consider someone beside yourself for a change. It makes a difference in life, you feel better for it.
—Some
inconveniences make you feel better later . . .

TYE
: You’re pantin’ like a hound that’s run a mile.

JANE
: I know. I’m not without feelings despite the fact I’m a Yankee.
—I
suppose it’s the Bluegrass descent. I can still hear the voices, why do they scream like that, like tom-cats in heat!

FIRST LADY TOURIST
[
from downstairs, outside
]:
Bess! It’s a little dream!
It’s like a dream.

JANE
: “Like a
dream”—last
line of first act of Chekhov’s
Seagull
.
—Played
Nina
once—
“I’m a
seagull”—no
good
translation—my
performance
was—praised—must
have
fever—still
talking to myself.

TYE
: I hear you, Babe. Maybe you should of stayed an actress, Babe, with your style
and—voice
. . .

JANE
:
I—thought
possibly—fashion
design—might
be less of a Roman circus, “Babe.” And less corrupt, morally, than the stage.
—No
producer or agent ever laid me
but—lots
tried.
—You
probably won’t believe that I was once a moral girl with ideas and social interests, concerned with
inequalities—injustice—you’ve
only seen my decline
into—degra—despe—ration
.

TYE
: Degra-desperation’s a new word, Babe.

JANE
: It’s
a—combo
of two, much worse than one.

TOURIST
[
from below
]:
—I
can’t keep up with you girls in these tight slippers. Besides I want to skip straight through to the Ole French Market for coffee, I’ve seen too many degenerates with long hair begging for change, the change they need is a scrubbing brush and a bath in a sheep-dip, honey!

JANE
[
opening the doors with a gasp
]: Ladies, please! This is a private residence, people live here, let them rest!
—On
Sunday!

FIRST LADY TOURIST
: Gracious!

SECOND LADY TOURIST
: Screaming at us for admiring the courtyard which is a listed attraction!

THIRD LADY TOURIST
: That we bought admission to seeee!

JANE
: I’m not a listed attraction, I’m a private citizen,
driven—mad
by your
fatuous—inanities—down
there! [
She slams the doors shut. The guide’s voice is heard placating the outraged ladies. Jane moves, gasping, on a zigzag course to the table. It is covered with green felt on which are printed dice and other gambling devices
.]
—At
least two degrees
of—fever
, nothing looks natural to me, why,
I—never
behaved so crazy in my life! I think it’s got in my head! These sketches are evidence of it! [
She starts tearing fashion sketches off the wall
.]
—Would
you look at these?
Deco
! Waistline at the hips, what an atrocity. And look at
me
. Bangles, jangles, beads! All taste gone! [
Tears off costume jewelry
.]

TYE
: Babe, you’re in no shape to meet a buyer.

JANE
[
slowly and bitterly
]: He’s no buyer of anything but me!
—I
tried to peddle designs at The Vogue
Moderne—too
advanced for introduction this season but would I be interested in modeling on the Trade Mart Roof?
—Christ
, I knew after one promenade round the revolving room, I’d fall into a potted palm and never get up again! [
She draws a long, loud breath. Pause. He is thinking of something
.]

TYE
[
slowly
]: Babe, would you say that the Champagne Girl was intended fo’ dawg food? [
This cues a pianist-singer at a bar nearby: a cadenza, then jazz
.] Would you say that she was meant to feed dawgs, that young kid of sixteen?

JANE
:
—So
I—declined
,
I—felt
weak—went
into the Blue Lantern for a shot of Metaxas to help me onto the street. There he was when I entered. He must of taken me for a hooker, probably rightly. Came over to me and pulled me to his table and presented
his—camerados
. Señorita this is Señor and Señor and
Señor—have
champagne.
—Why
not? On top of Metaxas, a French seventy-five informed me he had the Presidential Suite at The Royal Orleans, had never felt such attraction, muy, muy bonita.
—Tried
to force a hundred dollar bill in my hand, and like a fool I refused
it—accepted
his business address, though, like a rational person.
—At
noon today called him.

TYE
: Who’re you talkin’ about?

JANE
: My expected caller, a responsible businessman from
Brazil—sincerely
interested in
my—bankrupt
state . . .

TYE
: Responsible man? From banana republic? Forget it, come back to bed and I’ll undress you, Babe, you need rest.

JANE
: The bed bit is finished between us. You don’t believe we’re moving out today? [
Tye slowly stumbles up, crosses to the table, gulps coffee, then grasps her arm and draws her to the bed
.] No, no, no, no, no, no!

TYE
: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

TYE
: Want a hit, Babe? [
She ignores the question
.]
—Christ
, what’re you cryin’ about? Didn’t I just give you one helluva Sunday afternoon ball? And you’re
cryin
’ about it like your mother died.

JANE
[
brokenly
]: You forced me, you
little—sexist
pig, you did, you forced me.

TYE
: You wanted it.

JANE
: I did NOT.

TYE
: Sure you did. You come.

JANE
[
sitting up slowly
]: That’s automatic, even when
I’m—

TYE
: Aw, no, I’ve had chicks I might as well’ve been screwin’ a slab of liver, no shit.

JANE
:
—Beautiful—image
. . .

LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: Honey, I wouldn’t have missed this courtyard for the world. Would you? Sweetes’ little thaaing.
—Oh
. Where’s Ella?

ANOTHER LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: Ella dropped in a bar.

LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: Alone? In the Quarter? Which bar!

ANOTHER LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: Right across the way there.

LADY TOURIST
[
from below
]: The Unisex! ELLA! For heaven’s sake get her, there’s fairies in there. [
Voices fade out. Piano comes in
.]

TYE
: [
softer
]: You know what I mean, action but no action. [
He crosses toward her
.] Honey, you got shadows under your eyes.

JANE
: Blackbirds kissed me last night. Isn’t that what they say about shadows under the eyes? Blackbirds kissed her last night? [
He sits beside her on the bed and gently pulls the cover over her bare breasts, bends to kiss her eyes
.] Tye, I’m not a whore. Oh, I’m not the most ravishing courtesan of Paris
with—bad
cough and you’re not Armand,
but—I
am the Northern equivalent of a lady! A tramp but still a lady, not a whore.

TYE
: Whores get paid for it, Babe, I never paid. [
Grins
.] In fack, sometimes got paid.

JANE
: You
little—prick
! Now I’m talkin’ your jive, how do you like it?
—Does
she talk like that when she’s smearing you with lipstick, when you ball her, which I know that you do, repeatedly, between shows, to keep her energy and her silicone up?

TYE
:
—Who’re
you talkin’ about?

JANE
: That headliner at the strip show, the Champagne Girl.

TYE
[
gravely
]:
She’s—not
with the show anymore.

JANE
: The headliner’s quit the show?

TYE
: Yeh, honey, the Champagne Girl is dead an’ so she’s left the show.

JANE
: Do you mean literally dead
or—not
such a hot attraction?

TYE
: Don’t be funny about it, it ain’t funny.

JANE
: You mean she’s
actually—

TYE
: Yes. Ackchally. Dead.

JANE
:
—Oh
.
—
Sorry
.

TYE
[
wriggling into his shorts
]: I didn’t have her, the Mob did, I mean Fat Charlie and Fat Charlie’s lupos. Y’know the show is syndicate owned, Babe. I’ve spoke of Fat Charlie to you, the local boss-man. Well, he got her night befo’ last.
—Seems
it happened this way. The Champagne Girl was a femme type of Lesbo, hung up on Big Edna, six-foot bull-dyke, walks a villain wrestler. Operated a fancy massage parlor on Esplanade. And kept the Champagne Girl in a pad on Dauphine, all white silk and satin. Well. Big Edna’s parlor was raided sev’ral times at the request of Fat Charlie, socialites got caught there with their pants down and the pay-off went to Fat Charlie not to Big Edna so Big Edna said, fuck this, and decided to open a parlor in San Fran. And the Champagne Girl was going out there with her. Fat
Charlie said no but the Champagne Girl said yes like she didn’t know you don’t say no to Fat Charlie without sayin’ yes the next minute. And so it appears like now if she’s going to that West Coast massage parlor with Big Edna, it’ll be packed in ice.