Etiquette and Vitriol (34 page)

A hospital for the criminally insane. One year later.

 

 

In the darkness we hear Bobby Darrin's recording of “Beyond the Sea.” The lights come up on a beach. There is no foliage, perhaps a lone palm tree. Phyllis Hogan is standing center, with her back to us. She is emptying her shoes of sand. She is clearly overdressed for a day at the beach. She turns and addresses the audience.

PHYLLIS:
I loathe the beach. I am Phyllis Hogan and I do so loathe the beach. To me, it is the very definition of monotony. Just sand and water and sand and water. And more sand and more water. Ick. And look, a perfectly good pair of shoes, Susan Bennis/Warren Edwards, crocodile, and completely ruined! I have never understood the appeal of the seashore: sand in your stockings and young girls with better bodies in skimpy swimsuits. When I was a girl I used to bury myself in the sand. Head first.

I've no idea where I am. I was supposed to be in Italy by now, but I've been to Italy, and I always gain weight in Italy, so here I am at the beach. My husband is in Italy, gaining weight no doubt, gorging himself on the local delicacies and the local girls—and perhaps, thinking, only fleetingly, “What could have become of Phyllis?” He's scouting locations for a new film. Something heartwarming about extraterrestrials.
I assume. My husband is a filmmaker. He was a director in the seventies, now he's a filmmaker. He makes heartwarming films about lovable extraterrestrials, mostly.

My plane crashed. It's a miracle that I'm alive. I suppose. There were eight of us on the plane, including the pilot. Only Bishop and I survived. Of course one died of a heart attack during the in-flight movie. It featured Tatum O'Neal. I can't say I was frightened when the plane went down—the film was beastly. I just watched the ground getting closer and closer, spinning around outside my window like a top. I just shut my eyes and waited for it to happen: the bang, the crash, the end. And knowing my life was over was kind of a relief in a funny way. The chore of my life was over and I could just relax and wait and see. . . . But then I opened my eyes and now a perfectly good pair of shoes is down the drain. Damn. You should meet Bishop. Bishop! He's my son. I sent him to go through the pockets of the others. I only have two packs of cigarettes with me and there's no telling how long it'll be before they find us. That was an hour ago.

BISHOP! I'll go mad if I don't have some cigarettes.

(Bishop enters from over a dune. He is 11. He's wearing a prep-school uniform. His posture is terrible, hunched over and pigeon-toed. He speaks with a stutter.)

BISHOP:
Yes, M-m-other?

PHYLLIS:
What've you been doing?

BISHOP:
What did you t-t-tell me t-to do?

PHYLLIS:
I told you to go through their pockets for cigarettes.

BISHOP:
Well, that's what I've been d-d-doing.

PHYLLIS:
And?

BISHOP:
Two cigars.

(He offers her two cigars which she takes and puts in her flight bag.)

PHYLLIS:
Thank you.
(Out)
You never know.

BISHOP:
M-m-mother?

PHYLLIS:
You needn't address me as “Mother,” Bishop. There's no one else alive.

BISHOP:
Oh.

PHYLLIS:
Well, what is it?

BISHOP:
M-m-mother?

PHYLLIS
(Irritated)
: Yes?

BISHOP:
I'm f-f-fr—scared.

PHYLLIS:
Of what? We've already crashed.

BISHOP:
What will happen t-t-to us?

PHYLLIS:
Someone will find us.

BISHOP:
B-b-but—

PHYLLIS:
Don't be gloomy. It isn't becoming on little boys.

BISHOP:
B-b-but—

PHYLLIS:
If we'd made it to Italy, you'd be fat by now.

BISHOP
(Out)
: Katharine Hepburn made a movie in Italy.

S-s-summertime.
With Rossano B-b-brazzi. It was ad-d-dapted from
The Time of the Cuckoo,
by Arthur Laurents, and later turned into the m-m-musical,
Do I Hear a Waltz
? While f-f-filming on the canals of Venice, which are sewers, she fell in and got an eye in-f-fection which caused her to tear all the t-t-time after that.

PHYLLIS:
Very good, Bishop. Bishop is obsessed with Katharine Hepburn. Stand up straight.

BISHOP
(Out)
: K-k-katharine Hepburn was born November eight, n-n-nineteen-oh-nine. As a young girl, she wore her hair v-v-very short in the summer and was often m-m-mistaken for a boy. She was married to Ludlow Ogden Smith. But only for th-th-th—a little while.

PHYLLIS:
Thank you, Bishop. That will be all about Miss Hepburn.

BISHOP:
Her f-f-first play was
The Art and Mrs. B-b-bottle.

PHYLLIS:
That will do.

BISHOP
(Out)
: Her first film—

PHYLLIS:
That's enough.

BISHOP
(Out)
: A
B-b-bill of Divorcement.

PHYLLIS:
Stop it now.

BISHOP
(Out)
: Her f-f-first Oscar was for—

PHYLLIS:
Bishop—

BISHOP
(Out)
: M-m-m, was for—

PHYLLIS:
Stop it, Bishop!
(Out)
Bishop can be quite the little show-off.
(To Bishop)
No one is interested. No one cares. And if they do, they can buy one of three thousand books currently in print about her.

BISHOP:
Yes, Mother.

PHYLLIS:
Thank you.

BISHOP
(Out): Morning Glory
!!

PHYLLIS:
There's no telling how long we're going to be here, so
please
try to behave.

BISHOP:
I'm hungry.

PHYLLIS:
Don't think about it.

BISHOP:
What should I th-th-think about?

PHYLLIS:
Don't you realize how lucky you are to be alive?

BISHOP:
No.

PHYLLIS:
Well, you are very lucky.

BISHOP:
Oh.

PHYLLIS:
Everyone else was killed.

BISHOP:
I know.

PHYLLIS:
They weren't so lucky.

BISHOP:
Lucky me.

PHYLLIS:
That's right.

BISHOP:
I'm l-l-lucky. And I'm hungry.

PHYLLIS:
Oh, dig for clams.

BISHOP:
I d-d-don't like clams.

PHYLLIS:
Have you ever had clams?

BISHOP:
No.

PHYLLIS:
Then, how do you know you don't like them?

BISHOP:
They look like snot.

PHYLLIS:
Not clams casino.

BISHOP:
I'm sorry.

PHYLLIS:
You're giving me a headache, Bishop.

BISHOP:
I'm sorry.

PHYLLIS:
Can't you go play with the dead bodies or something?

You're eleven, you should like that sort of thing.

BISHOP
(Out)
: There were magazines in the cockpit, with p-p-pictures of naked boys doing things to each other.

PHYLLIS
(Out)
: Probably why we crashed.

BISHOP:
I'm hungry.

PHYLLIS:
You said that.

BISHOP:
I'm s-s-sorry.

PHYLLIS:
Try to say new things.

BISHOP:
I'm st-t-tarving.

PHYLLIS:
Interesting things.

BISHOP:
I'm famished.

PHYLLIS:
I should be dead now. I tell myself I should be dead or in Italy.

BISHOP:
I'm h-h-h—

PHYLLIS:
Bishop!

BISHOP:
Thirsty.

PHYLLIS:
Oh, I'll go look for food. Hold my shoes. They're ruined at this point, but the last thing I need is to lose a heel.

(Phyllis hands Bishop her shoes and exits over the dune. Bishop addresses the audience.)

BISHOP:
I d-d-didn't mind crashing. Really. It was ek-ek-ek— cool. I'm lucky. We were s-s-spinning and spinning and it was just like being in a movie. K-k-katharine Hepburn played an avi-av-av—lady pilot in the movie
Christopher Strong.
It was never turned into a musical. I am Bishop Hogan. Th-that is my name, I am not a deacon of the church. I'm eleven. My father is famous. He hates Mother. He sleeps with the young girls in his m-m-movies.

(Howard enters from the wings.)

HOWARD
(Out)
: That's not true.

BISHOP
(Out)
: He doesn't love my mother and he doesn't love m-m-me.

HOWARD
(Out)
: She tells him these things—

BISHOP
(Out)
: He's ob-bsessed with his work.

HOWARD
(Out)
: To assuage her guilt over a failing marriage and to alienate my son from me.

BISHOP
(Out)
: He's self-absorbed.

HOWARD
(Out)
: Her words.

BISHOP
(Out)
: The only reason I have any friends at all, is b-b-because I give them
Arcky
dolls.

HOWARD
(Out)
: She fills his head with lies.

BISHOP
(Out)
: Arcky was the extrat-t-terrestrial in my father's movie.

HOWARD
(Out)
: They know Arcky. Everybody knows Arcky. Everybody loves him.
(Out)
They used him in the Pepsi- Cola commercials.

BISHOP:
Why don't you love Mommy?

HOWARD
(Out)
: Who said I didn't?

BISHOP:
She did.

HOWARD:
Oh.

BISHOP:
Wh-wh-why?

HOWARD:
She's overbearing.

BISHOP:
What's that?

HOWARD:
It's complicated.

PAM
(Offstage)
: Hoowwaardd?

BISHOP:
Do you think we're d-d-dead?

HOWARD:
I haven't thought about it yet.

PAM
(Offstage)
: Hoowwwaarrddd!

HOWARD:
Excuse me.

(Howard exits. Phyllis enters.)

PHYLLIS:
There is nothing.

BISHOP:
Oh?

PHYLLIS:
Not so much as a coconut. Oh, give me those, I feel frumpish. This island is a parking lot.
(She takes the shoes)

BISHOP:
I'm hungry.

PHYLLIS:
I know.

BISHOP:
Do you think Daddy thinks we're dead?

PHYLLIS
(Bright)
: Let's talk about sleeping arrangements. Shall we?

BISHOP:
I bet he's c-c—worried.

PHYLLIS:
It'll be night soon.

BISHOP:
He's crying. I bet.

PHYLLIS:
Can you build a lean-to?

BISHOP:
I miss Daddy.

PHYLLIS:
Can you build a lean-to, or a hut, or something?

BISHOP:
Do you miss D-d-daddy?

PHYLLIS:
Can you, Bishop, build a lean-to?

BISHOP:
Of course not.

PHYLLIS:
What do you mean, of course not?

BISHOP:
I mean I can't.

PHYLLIS:
Don't be negative. Why can't you?

BISHOP:
Because I can't.