TERRY GIBSON  

(Dusk.

Interior of a fashionable high-rise residence in midtown Manhattan. It is a large, open, modestly furnished space with a kitchen and dining counter, a sofa, end  table, and chairs. An entry door stage right. Two doorless openings upstage right  and left to unseen living space.

A man, late middle-age, stands under a special—small lit area—downstage right, dressed in formal attire. He is a CLIENT, though he will also appear briefly in scene  two as a PEDIATRICIAN, then as a PROFESSOR. At the moment he appears to be conversing with other invisible guests at a party, referred to below. At no point will  the other characters notice or look in his direction, or at the PEDIATRICIAN or the  PROFESSOR. The CLIENT and his other embodiments only provide visual counterpoints to what is being spoken by the two principals. One of whom, ELIZABETH, mid-thirties and very attractive, stands in an evening gown at a recessed window, upstage center left, looking down on the street many floors below. Her bare back is toward the audience, but at a slight angle to reveal her profile.

A clock on a mantelpiece chimes six times while . . .

DAVID, the same age as ELIZABETH, also dressed in formal attire, but no jacket yet, now enters briskly with two champagne glasses and a bottle in a standing ice bucket. He lowers the bucket to the floor and pours champagne from the bottle into the glasses. He is tall and fit, tries to overcome his nervousness and modesty when he can, and has unruly hair that does not conform well to his New York-style haircut for the young professional.

DAVID and ELIZABETH are financial advisors for holders of large personal investments and cash accounts.

DAVID hands a glass to ELIZABETH, which she accepts without acknowledging him or turning her head from the window. He then crosses downstage, stops, and takes a large swallow from his own glass. He winces slightly from the taste. Pause. He crosses to the bucket, refills his glass, and returns to the exact point where he stood previously downstage. He watches the bubbles dissolve in his glass for several moments before speaking. ELIZABETH does not remove her gaze from the street or the view outside the window. DAVID takes a deep breath and exhales. The CLIENT continues silent party chat.)

DAVID (staring at bubbles, to the glass)
I’m from Illinois.

ELIZABETH
What a lovely view.

DAVID
Illinois has the fifth largest State Domestic Product in the country.

ELIZABETH
Have you lived here long?

DAVID (holding the glass up into the light, examining the champagne’s color)
Let me tell you a few things about Illinois.

ELIZABETH
The people are so small . . .

DAVID
Fifth. But only a third of the population of California, which is first . . .

ELIZABETH
Do you like New York?

DAVID
. . . in State Domestic Product.

ELIZABETH
Did we just move?

DAVID
Per capita, more Fortune 500 companies have headquarters in Illinois than in any other state.

ELIZABETH
We moved! I could feel it! The building moved!

(She braces a hand against the wall or window frame.)

DAVID
Caterpillar. Sears. Motorola . . .

(He lowers the glass.)

ELIZABETH
We’re moving up here! It’s like standing on a cloud!

DAVID
Except for Chicago, “the city that works,” there are virtually no tourist or recreational attractions in Illinois whatsoever. No sites of geographic or natural interest of any kind.

ELIZABETH
. . . ever so slightly.

DAVID
None. No reason for a person to do anything but work. Go to work, toil, and go home.

ELIZABETH
I like the champagne.

DAVID
We are, those of us from Illinois, in a quiet way, an economic miracle.

ELIZABETH (sexy)
This is fun! Wanna fuck?

(Still facing the window ELIZABETH bends slightly at the waist and raises the back of her gown, exposing her naked behind and legs. She does this mechanically, without appearing to realize that she is doing it. DAVID does not see her or look in her direction.)

DAVID
Lake Michigan, for example, except for a few negligible miles of beach in downtown Chicago, has no value to Illinois other than as a commercial vehicle. As a means of water transport. Of container shipping for the delivery of consumer goods . . .

ELIZABETH
Baby carriages! I can see them!

DAVID
Rubber. Lumber products. Slaughtered beef and pork.

ELIZABETH
Postal workers . . . the police.

DAVID
Pleasure boaters are restricted to the shoreline.

ELIZABETH
So small. Do you enjoy the movement?

DAVID
Unless issued a special permit.

ELIZABETH
Does it frighten you?

DAVID
Penalties are severe. Cheers.

(The CLIENT turns and exits upstage right. His special fades out.

ELIZABETH lowers her gown and continues to look out the window. They both drink. DAVID still has a little trouble with champagne. He begins pacing.)

DAVID
At a function the other night, much like the one we’re going to this evening, a man I didn’t know said to me “you chose this life.” And I agreed, for the moment, as we always do at these get-togethers. But a little flag went up in my mind that I examined later. And I thought, “no, he's wrong, I chose nothing. I've never chosen anything.” Listen to this. And it occurred to me that neither has he nor anybody else. Not a fireman or an astronaut or a baseball player, anyone. Nobody chooses a thing. In fact, I’m not responsible for anything. Nobody is.

ELIZABETH
. . . responsible . . .

DAVID (smiling)
I’m from Illinois. That is, I am a product of Illinois,

(whispering, like a secret)

a product of . . . history and . . . culture.

(Looking down at himself in mild astonishment.)

In human form. Whatever came over me to think of such a thing? And I felt as if nobody, no human being, had ever made that observation about themselves before, which made it seem even more . . . truthful.

(Pause. DAVID smiles with gentle self-mockery, toasts himself; and sips.)

ELIZABETH
So quiet. So soundless. We can hear nothing of the . . . activity . . . below.

(She turns for the first time and crosses to DAVID)

It’s like watching TV with the sound off! Everybody else is so far away. Like background players. Or singers! In a chorus! I always wanted to be a background singer. Secretly. Don’t tell anybody that.

(She adjusts his tie.)

Don’t tell.

DAVID
Okay.

ELIZABETH
Not the star. Just in the background. Singing. And in a way, I am. I love what I do. People don’t know what I do and wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain it to them. I love that. It’s like being invisible. Nobody understands anything, they just smile at me and go away. I’m a specialist.

DAVID
We both are.

ELIZABETH
Do you ever watch TV with the sound off? I love that, too. Whenever I can’t sleep. I curl up and watch the faces on the screen, contorting themselves. Laughing or crying or running from Godzilla at two am. I have a new vibrator, too. It’s called a Satin Devil. I watch the faces and fall asleep with the Satin Devil between my legs. Up inside me, a nice low hum. How do you fall asleep when you can't?

DAVID
I don’t have that problem.

ELIZABETH (Looking around the room)
Let’s skip work tomorrow. Stay in the tepee.

DAVID
Alright.

ELIZABETH
The only people I ever talk to or have anything to do with know what I do. They have no interest in anything else but . . . my performance. I don’t mean the pharmacist or the dry cleaner or people like that. But people who understand my language, my special language. That’s all business is, really. A special kind of language.

DAVID
I know.

ELIZABETH
“Amortization,” for instance. Even people who know what it means don’t understand it. I make more money from what people think they know but don’t understand.

(She sips.)

Then they get their statement and I explain it to them. In my special language.

DAVID
I understand.

ELIZABETH
You do?

DAVID
Yes, of course. I’ve heard. Or I’ve seen you, and your clients sitting across from you, at the office.

ELIZABETH
I take good care of my clients. I’m fair to them.

DAVID
They’re people.

ELIZABETH
That’s right.

(They raise their glasses to “the people,” and drink.)

But what is it? Am I fair “to” them, or “with” them? Which?

DAVID
“To” them, I think. That must be where the singing comes in.

ELIZABETH
My background singing, yes. But there are laws, too. We both know that. So I don’t get carried away, to keep me in the background, “ha, ha, ha.” Still, after I do all that explaining and holding their hands people leave with the most confused looks on their faces. Then I’m the one who doesn’t understand, I suppose.

(pause, a little awkward)

DAVID
It’s hard to fathom.

(Pause.)

ELIZABETH
Yes. Sometimes . . .

(Pause. They both drink, DAVID wincing again.)

DAVID (looking at champagne bubbles again)
I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Elizabeth, until I met you.

ELIZABETH
. . . what?

DAVID
Until I met you. I never met anyone . . . like you.

ELIZABETH
That’s so strange.

DAVID
Hmmm? What is?

ELIZABETH
What you just said. What you said the first time made absolutely no sense till you said it the second time. When you said it the second time it made perfect sense.

DAVID
I didn’t mean to offend you.

ELIZABETH
No, no. Nothing like that. It’s . . .

(seductively, she looks at DAVID)

Maybe we’ll get back to it later.

DAVID
What I meant was, I suppose, is, that you just sort of appeared one day. I looked up and there you were.

ELIZABETH
Abracadabra. Like Cinderella!

DAVID
They said you were coming. We all knew you were coming and that you’d have, that there were certain things you would handle for us.

(She looks at him.)

Bad choice of words. Sorry. We wouldn’t have to do them anymore.

ELIZABETH
That’s me.

DAVID 
That’s all I meant. And you seem to have meshed so well with everyone.

ELIZABETH
Thank you.

DAVID
You make it look so easy. Congratulations.

ELIZABETH
Like that girl in the book?

DAVID
Which book?

ELIZABETH
That famous book you read. A long time ago. You told me. She falls in love with one of her patients. The wounded soldier.

DAVID
A Farewell to Arms?

ELIZABETH
Yes, that one.

DAVID (slight pause)
Would you like some more champagne, Elizabeth?

ELIZABETH (Holding out her glass.)
Yes, I would. Thank you. It makes me feel invisible.

(He pours, she smiles and drinks. She returns to the window. Pause.)

But there was something wrong, too.

DAVID
Wrong?

ELIZABETH
Yes. You said so. With the writing. In the book.

DAVID
I did?

(anxious, fearful of being misunderstood)

There’s nothing wrong with A Farewell to Arms. Certainly not with the writing.

ELIZABETH
No, with . . . what was it? . . . The trees. Remember?

DAVID
The trees? Oh, that! Okay. Yeah. What I meant was, and I was being a little sarcastic, I meant that the author, Ernest Hemingway, just needed to put more trees in the book. That’s all.

ELIZABETH
More trees?

DAVID
Yes.

ELIZABETH
Why?

DAVID
Why? Well, for poetry. For poetic reasons.

ELIZABETH
Oh . . .

DAVID
I mean, who doesn’t like trees? Or love trees? See what I mean? And just say the names of some of them, like sycamore, for instance. Or sassafras. What a great thing to have in a book about war and love, sycamore trees! Put a few trees in your book and people call you a poet.

ELIZABETH
I’m sure it’s more complicated than that.

DAVID (embarrassed)
Oh, it is, it is. I was just being sarcastic.

ELIZABETH
I think I make you a little nervous.

(Pause. She crosses back to the window. Looks out.)

Look! Birds! I can see their wings open! Flying under us! What fun!

(She spreads her arms like wings, and takes a deep breath. Sensuous.)

Ahhhhhh! Are you a wounded soldier, David? Hmmm? Are you? Tell me more about Illinois, wounded soldier. About beautiful Illinois.

DAVID
Okay.

(DAVID crosses upstage to a large standing cabinet or closet. He discreetly takes a key from his pocket and unlocks and opens the cabinet/closet door. Stacks of old books, photos, magazines and maps, and an Illinois State Fair pennant are seen inside. An antique ukulele with strings missing and the portrait of Abraham Lincoln, 1869, by George P.A. Healy, of Lincoln seated, legs crossed, his chin resting in his right hand are visible. A model replica of the Illinois Capitol Building in Springfield with other state memorabilia are also identifiable. It is a private archive, in fact, with a few scattered items of sports equipment such as a baseball glove and bat, a cap, and an old football tucked in among the other stuff. A raccoon hat and perhaps a hand-carved bow-and-arrow set are kept inside with an Indian headdress also visible to the audience. He puts on the raccoon hat. A large illustrated map of Illinois is hung on the inside door panel. DAVID switches on a lamp over the map or just inside the closet door. He steps to the side as ELIZABETH looks at the display of items and at DAVID; she is mildly stunned and amused.)

DAVID
You’re laughing, aren’t you.

ELIZABETH
No! No, I’m not! I promise!

DAVID
It’s okay.

ELIZABETH
No . . .

DAVID
It’s not for everybody.

(He takes off the hat and begins to close the cabinet door.)

ELIZABETH
No! I promise! Please, don’t! I’m not laughing. It's just . . .

DAVID
What?

(Pause.)

It’s just what?

ELIZABETH
Unusual. That’s all. Your apparent . . . your reverence . . . and interest . . . in . . . your . . . place of origin.

DAVID (a little amused at himself)
I suppose it is. You’re right. But I guess people keep all kinds of things in their closets, don’t they?

(He takes a baseball glove from among the stuff, puts it on, and punches the center down with his free fist.)

ELIZABETH
I guess they do.

DAVID (at gloved hand)
I like history.

ELIZABETH
So I see.

DAVID
A lot. There’s really a lot to tell you about. If you’re interested.

ELIZABETH
Oh, I am interested.

DAVID
But it’s not for everybody.

(Punches glove.)

ELIZABETH
You said that already.

DAVID
I suppose I did . . .

(Pause.)

How’s the champagne?

ELIZABETH
Fine.

(She crosses downstage to the couch, sits seductively. An uncomfortable pause.)

DAVID
Amazing. The stuff we squirrel away.

ELIZABETH
Yes it is.

(swinging an ankle)

Amazing.

(She stares at DAVID.)

DAVID
Wherever we go.

ELIZABETH
Yep.

DAVID
I’m a Cub fan, too.

(He takes a Chicago Cubs baseball hat from the closet.)

ELIZABETH
Isn’t that something.

(Pause. DAVID smiles, and resigned to continuing he clears his throat, looks at the map, and sighs. The CLIENT reenters and resumes his downstage right position under special. DAVID replaces the raccoon hat on his head, and as DAVID begins speaking, the CLIENT resumes his silent party behavior.)

DAVID (nervously)
Perhaps Illinois, and being from Illinois, can be understood best from the perspective of what has been called “frontier idealism.” That is, a certain persistence of vision on the part of settlers to the region in the early nineteenth century and continuing, perhaps, into the present.

(ELIZABETH listens; DAVID pulls a little at his collar and clears his throat again. He takes another swallow of champagne.)

This vision is not altogether pleasant or even comprehensible at first, and it is filled with paradoxes. Bigotry. The oppression of blacks and of women. This is how we’re taught to regard these attitudes today. But if we look a little more closely at the substance and demands of Illinois frontier life, we may think and judge a little differently.

(ELIZABETH applauds then abruptly holds out her champagne glass for DAVID to refill, a big smile on her face. DAVID stops and refills her glass, sensing fun.)

ELIZABETH (She sips again, and smiles at DAVID)
Thank you. Proceed.

DAVID
Let’s consider first southern and central Illinois.

ELIZABETH
Oh, my!

(Stroking her hip with provocative and fluid sensuality)

Regional dynamics!

DAVID
From the outset, say, 1830, southern Illinois was organized for the benefit and advantage of men. For masculine supremacy and patriarchal control.

ELIZABETH (She grabs the seat cushion.)
We moved again! Did you feel it!

DAVID
Yeah, I did. It happens a lot. But don’t worry. You get used to it.

ELIZABETH
It’s a little scary, but I like it, too!

DAVID
Yeah. Our building’s designed like a tree, they say. Like a big oak tree, to sway in the wind. Anyway, people said that Illinois was “easy on men and horses,
and hard on women and oxen.”

(DAVID chuckles.)

But if that were true few women seemed to complain about it. At least not for a while, anyway.

ELIZABETH (comfortable again, raising her hand like in class)
Me, I’d never complain. I like horses. And men.

DAVID
Oh. Good.

(opening and reading from a book)

“We were married and we came here to live,” says a Mr. William Behrick of Marion County, in 1852. “We didn’t move, for we had nothing to move. I had an old horse, a cow, a plow, and some homemade tools, and my wife had some household goods she had made. We had little money, but did not need much, as we raised or made all we used.”

(excited)

I have hundreds of letters and documents like this.

ELIZABETH
So they could read and write, too?

DAVID
Yes, quite frequently.

ELIZABETH
Riveting.

DAVID
Diaries, private journals, long detailed letters. Their thoughts mattered to them. But you can’t help but wonder why, sometimes. There was nothing out there, just miles of flat land and emptiness and work to do. Nobody to talk to. Like being on the moon. Nothing to do but survive.

ELIZABETH
My, how things have changed.

DAVID
To say the least. And poetry sometimes. See if you can guess who wrote this.

(DAVID now reads from Abraham Lincoln's poem “The Bear Hunt” )

When first my father settled here
‘Twas then the frontier line
The panther’s scream, filled night with fear
And bears preyed on the swine

ELIZABETH
Irving Berlin.

DAVID
Nope. Abraham Lincoln.

(continuing)

A wild bear chase, didst never see?
Then hast thou lived in vain
Thy richest lump of glorious glee
Lies desert in they brain 

(ELIZABETH giggles at this to herself and attempts to cover it. The CLIENT exits as before)

ELIZABETH
I’m sorry. Maybe you should go on to the idealism part.

DAVID (Returning to the map)
Yeah. Anyway, if nothing else, Illinois was, as we put it today, accessible. It wasn’t just a place to go, it was a place you could go.

(pointing on map)

The Ohio, the Illinois, the Wabash and Kankakee rivers cut through the territory in a very promising way for mass resettlement. You could take your choice, so to speak.

ELIZABETH (sipping)
Sir, you puzzle me.

DAVID
Slavery, and the slave ownership class, stayed for the most part in Kentucky and Tennessee. You could escape them. And live. Away from the snobbery. The imported clothes. All that ornate plantation crap. You could get away from it.

ELIZABETH (She studies the champagne bubbles as DAVID did.)
Oh, that darned history and culture.

DAVID
Precisely.

ELIZABETH
They just ruin everything.

DAVID
The Illinois territory . . .

ELIZABETH
No bug spray. No Laser guns.

DAVID
. . . was owned by the federal government. And squatters were never evicted. You could do “right well . . . ,” as they'd say.

ELIZABETH
There goes the neighborhood!

DAVID
We can stop if you want. I can stop.

ELIZABETH
No Batman and Robin.

DAVID
It’s okay. I won’t be offended.

ELIZABETH (sincere, sympathetic)
No, I’m enjoying it. Really, I am. Please go on, go on. I’ll stop. I’m sorry. Just no more poetry if you can help it for now. Like you said, it’s not for everybody. But go on, please. Salud!

DAVID
Alright. We established one thing, anyway. Another characteristic of the time, that Illinois was “the land of rest to the weary, the place of refuge to the oppressed.”  People could escape, settle among peaceful Indians, farm. They were free from harassment . . .

ELIZABETH (interrupting)
How about the paradoxes? Let’s try a few of those.

DAVID
Okay. But something about this really bothers you, doesn’t it?

ELIZABETH
A very elaborate puzzle, really.

DAVID (reading)
“Illinois was a favorite escape for desperados of all sorts.”

(ELIZABETH bursts out laughing uncontrollably.)

DAVID (continuing)
“The traditionalist settlers had vague notions of the role of government . . . ,”

(Pause. DAVID looks at her.)

ELIZABETH (laughing)
. . . I can’t help it. I’m sorry.

DAVID (slowly closing book, embarrassed now)
“ . . . except that . . . it should rid the land . . . of Indians.”

(DAVID crosses to the cabinet and replaces the book quietly. ELIZABETH continues to suppress her laughter with varying success at it. DAVID crosses to the champagne bucket and refills his glass again, watching the bubbles.)

ELIZABETH (wiping tears from her eyes)
I am so very sorry. Really, please forgive me. I never lose control of myself like that. I think, I think, I’ve just needed something to laugh at. Do you understand? I’ve needed . . . I’m . . . confused. Confused about certain . . . things. I can’t explain. But they have nothing to do with you. Don’t think that. Please. Please don’t think that.

DAVID
Okay . . .

ELIZABETH
I mean, starting with us. With just us. Here. You and I. Who are you talking to? Really?

(She casually drops her gown to the floor, picks it up with her free hand, drapes it over her shoulder and circles the room as she speaks, sipping her champagne. Full nudity or sexy, thong underwear beneath the gown.)

Do you see what I mean? I don’t know. If it isn’t me, then who? Or what? Does this kind of thing ever occur to you? I mean . . . talk to me. Close your voodoo cabinet and talk to me. But who are you talking to? Do you see what I mean? Now it’s not so easy, is it? I’m a moving target. Even to myself. You don’t know what I’ll say back, do you

(DAVID looks at her. ELIZABETH slowly advances toward him, looking DAVID squarely in the eye.)

What difference does it make, really? Can you see me? I’m here someplace. I mean, can you find me? I can’t. But I think you can, or could, if you wanted to. Personally, I wouldn’t want to try. Why make all that effort at something so intangible? I mean, I’m talking to you. Me. But who is doing the talking? I don’t know. I’m not from Illinois. That’s what I mean. I know it’s me, somewhere in here, but who is it? How can I find that person? I can’t, and I don’t know if I want to.

(Pause.)

DAVID (quietly, uncertainly)
People . . . the first people . . . in Illinois . . . they didn’t know what it meant, but they knew that it meant something. That’s all. Like being on the moon.

ELIZABETH
What?

(Pause.)

Maybe you didn’t have to know what it meant.

DAVID
Mmmm . . .

ELIZABETH
I mean, for instance, we, you and I, could be in a chalet in Aspen, but we’d probably be too drunk and horny to care. Right? At least I hope so. See what I mean? Do you have a chalet in Aspen? No. But who cares? We’re here instead. We’re here and I’m horny, and a little drunk. So: fuck me, Tarzan. But you don’t want to. That’s all I know.

(She saunters of upstage right. David stands there alone. Long pause.)

ELIZABETH (offstage.)
I ruined your lecture. I’m sorry.

DAVID
That’s okay. There’s not much to tell, anyway. People came rattling along in oxcarts and wagons. Everything raw and unfinished. Axes, mauls, saws. Sometimes a banjo or a string instrument. You know, that sort of thing.

(He removes the hat, replaces it in the cabinet, and half-closes the door.)

Butter churns. Everything made of wood.

ELIZABETH (returning in gown again, pouring herself another glass)
Can I ask you something?

DAVID
Sure. What is it?

ELIZABETH
Do you ever think about all this? About why you keep a closetful of such . . . paraphernalia . . . locked away?

DAVID
No. Not really.

ELIZABETH
You know the kinds of things people keep in their closets, don’t you? In this city? Other people? You know what I mean.

DAVID
Yes, but I don’t think about it.

ELIZABETH
It’s not really a hobby, is it?

DAVID
No! Please, no! Don’t say that word, please! I hate that word!

ELIZABETH
Ouch. Struck a nerve there, didn’t I?

DAVID
Yes. Please. Just not that word. Okay? I hate it.

ELIZABETH
Alright. But it is a collection, isn’t it? You’ve gone out of your way to retrieve and protect these . . . things, haven’t you?

DAVID
Have you ever seen the movie Jeremiah Johnson starring Robert Redford?

ELIZABETH
These stories. You’re protecting these little stories.

DAVID
Maybe so. I never thought of it that way.

ELIZABETH (going to closet)
Why?

DAVID
I don’t know. Like I said I . . . don’t open that again, please.

ELIZABETH (opening)
I won't hurt anything.

(slowly)

I promise. It doesn’t really interest me, anyway, to be honest with you. I guess we both understand that now. But I’m curious.

(taking a baseball bat and Cubs hat)

Curious about you. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?

(donning the hat)

DAVID
No. I like that you’re curious.

ELIZABETH (With bat, moving away from DAVID)
But you think I’m silly, too, don’t you?

DAVID
Not at all.

ELIZABETH
C’mon. Yes, you do. Just a little. It’s okay. I like to be silly. All girls do. And invisible. It’s fun! It restores me to something, I suppose. Like your collection does for you. I like to say and do silly things.

DAVID
I see.

ELIZABETH
And don’t you enjoy it, too, just a wee bit, when I do? Or when I am?

DAVID
I don’t know.

ELIZABETH
You do.

DAVID
I do what? 

ELIZABETH
Enjoy it.

DAVID
Okay, I guess so. I do.

ELIZABETH
See? But you just don’t know it. Still, I have to be careful, too, don’t I? Just silly enough without offending you. Or embarrassing you.

DAVID
You haven’t offended me.

ELIZABETH
Or hurting you.

DAVID
You haven’t. And I don’t think you would.

ELIZABETH (still with bat)
I won’t. But I could. If I wanted to. Hurt you. Or offend you. Or embarrass you.

DAVID
I’m sure you could.

ELIZABETH
But I don’t want to.

(Pause.)

DAVID
I appreciate that. But it’s like I said.

ELIZABETH
What? What is?

DAVID
About meeting you. About never having met anyone like you.

ELIZABETH
I appeared out-of-the-blue.

DAVID
Yes.

ELIZABETH
I was just invisible for awhile, I suppose.

(She draws closer to DAVID.)

DAVID
Maybe so.

ELIZABETH
But now I’m here.

(She crosses to DAVID and kisses him hungrily. He does not resist.)

ELIZABETH
Did you like that?

DAVID
Yes.

ELIZABETH
Very much?

(DAVID nods.)

Do you want to do more?

(DAVID nods.)

But we have to go soon. We don’t want to be late.

(DAVID nods.)

I like that.

(From the Illinois cabinet DAVID takes a past edition of the Lombard Spectator, a suburban Chicago newspaper, opens it, and reads from it. Upbeat.)

DAVID
From The Lombard Spectator, Wednesday, May 14,1947.

ELIZABETH
Oh, goody!

DAVID
Page one.  

ELIZABETH
Yahoo! Start at the beginning!

DAVID
“The Lombard City Council voted unanimously to . . .

ELIZABETH
No! Wait! Stop!

DAVID
What? What’s wrong?

ELIZABETH
The weather! What’s the forecast? Does it say?

DAVID
Well, I’m sure it does. Let’s see.

(He searches. ELIZABETH advances toward him.)

Ah, here it is. “Continued mild and breezy. Sunny. High of 78.” A beautiful day . . .

ELIZABETH
Oooooh!

DAVID (continues)
“. . . voted to increase funding and budget provisions . . .”

ELIZABETH (sexy)
Ride ‘em, cowboy!

DAVID
“. . . to ten thousand dollars for the Lombard Park District swimming program.”

ELIZABETH  (in his ear softly)
I love swimming . . .

DAVID
“The unexpected success of last year’s use of the public pool . . .”

ELIZABETH
Do you like to swim?

DAVID
“. . . is the cause for the increase.”

ELIZABETH
Everybody likes to swim. You just get into the water and start stroking. Very simple. Where are we going again?

DAVID (DAVID glances at his watch.)
To a museum.

ELIZABETH
Oh, yes. Ugh. Why? I forgot. Tell me.

(She rests her head on his shoulder)

DAVID (with an oddly blank expression, as if in a day dream)
Okay. The people we’re meeting at the museum tonight have been invited there for two reasons.

(ELIZABETH begins stroking his chest and lightly biting his ear. DAVID disregards this.)

They know two things about themselves. One: that they have lots of money. And two: that they are going to die. Soon. Relatively soon. Both circumstances are taking them somewhat by surprise, and they know it, or feel it, in some vague, uncertain way. But they never speak about it, not even among themselves. That’s where we come in.

ELIZABETH
I see . . .

(DAVID steps away from ELIZABETH. She remains in a kind of autoerotic, sensual trance, wandering the room, extending her arms over her head, stretching, then stroking her arms and hips, her eyes barely open.)

DAVID
The people we’re meeting tonight are lost. Rudderless. It is simply necessary to have a segment of the ownership class ending their lives with more money in the bank than they ever expected, ever dreamed, of having. And they are it. Watch them come in the door tonight.

(The CLIENT reenters, crosses to former position downstage right)

They’ve probably been to an art museum twice in their lives. They’ll walk about fifty feet into the main hall, stop, stand at the fountain in the rotunda, and look around at the ceiling, lost. It’s our job to steer them, point them in a direction, to a safe harbor.

(CLIENT removes and opens letter from breast pocket, reads it)

ELIZABETH
Point me . . .

DAVID (lost in thought)
They get certified letters twice a year telling them how much money they’ve made and they’re in a state of shock. A state, I suppose, not too different from those who learn how much money they haven’t made.

“Where did all this come from? What did I ever do to get my hands on so much money?”

They’re made humble all over again. Docile and submissive.

“What am I going to do with this big, big fish I’ve caught? Well, there’s only one thing I can do, I suppose. Land it. Reel it in.”

(CLIENT returns letter to envelope and breast pocket.)

They get our invitations about two weeks later. We show them how.

ELIZABETH
Oooooo . . . . . .

DAVID
And the answer is all around them, waiting to be picked like apples in September. Art. Buy it. Put it into a museum, with your name on a little plaque. Deduct the cost. Die. And continue to deduct. That’s how you know you’re really rich.

ELIZABETH (circling her breast nipple with a fingertip over her gown)
I wanna be rich . . .

DAVID
It is simply necessary to have this class of people. Affluent, and totally stunned at the end.

ELIZABETH
What about the others? Ooops!

(ELIZABETH is tipsy now from the champagne.)

DAVID
Who? What others?

(The CLIENT exits as before)

ELIZABETH
The ones not invited to the party? But I guess we don’t talk about them, do we? They don’t get any apples. What do they say?

DAVID (He studies ELIZABETH a moment, assessing her condition)
How about a little coffee, Elizabeth, before we head out?

(He gently takes her champagne glass.)

ELIZABETH
I suppose so.

(She waves goodbye to the champagne glass.)

DAVID
I’ll have some with you.

(He goes to a coffee pot on the counter and prepares coffee for two. ELIZABETH watches him. Pause.)

ELIZABETH
You’re such a gentleman.

DAVID
Thank you.

ELIZABETH
You’re welcome. And very pleasant company.

DAVID
Thank you. You, too.

ELIZABETH  (coyly)
Am I, really?

DAVID
Sure.

ELIZABETH
How nice of you. You’re very nice.

DAVID
Thanks.

ELIZABETH
You put things so well. So tactfully.

DAVID
Well . . . good. But enough shop talk for now. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.

ELIZABETH
That’s a good idea! And I think I’ll just listen to you tonight.

DAVID
What?

ELIZABETH
Just listen to you.

DAVID
How do you mean?

ELIZABETH
Talking to people, at the party. To the big-fish catchers.

DAVID
Oh.

ELIZABETH
I’ll chime in when it’s necessary. Don’t worry about that. When it’s absolutely necessary. But I think I’ll learn more if I let you do most of the talking. Is that okay?

(She extends her arms up over her head as if to touch the ceiling and takes a deep breath and exhales, stretching like a sated cat.)

DAVID
Yeah, I guess.

ELIZABETH
The office is . . . better . . . for me, anyway. Where I’m more comfortable.

DAVID
I see.

ELIZABETH
You can talk about Illinois! Put them at ease. It’s homey.

DAVID
Maybe it is.

ELIZABETH (Still stretching)
And reassuring. “Frontier . . . ” What is it?

DAVID (Looking at her)
“Idealism.”

ELIZABETH
Yes. Trustworthy. Tilling the earth. Building communities. Making coffee . . .

DAVID
By the way, how do you like it?

ELIZABETH
I don’t want any coffee.

(Pause. DAVID stops.)

DAVID (unsure)
Well . . . I told you . . . it’s not for everyone.

ELIZABETH
Do you know what interests me? What I like to pursue?

DAVID
No. What?

ELIZABETH
The things that just pop into my head! Out of nowhere! No reason for them being there, but what can you do? There they are. Just as real as anything else.

(She takes the champagne bottle and refills her glass.)

All the time. At work or at the gym or watching TV. Where do they come from? I wonder sometimes. I have to ask myself because, as a fairly observant person they do . . . exist.

(like a secret)

They exist! Just as clear in my mind as . . . as seeing those birds outside your window. I watch them. What should I do? I can't just ignore them, these sudden thoughts, or pictures, or whatever they are. I know better than that.

(She drinks. Advancing toward DAVID, though still secretive)

Some of them are kind of scary, too. Sexual. Violent. About people who I either want to fuck, or kill. People at work. Sometimes the same person. Or strangers. And places to do it. They come into my head so fast I don’t even know where they came from, or why. Sometimes I imagine witnesses, seeing me do it, watching me, sometimes not. And it always makes me feel better. Cleaner. An injustice to me has been corrected, and I walk away happy. And alone. A balance has been restored.

(She crosses to the couch downstage and sits facing out. DAVID remains in place upstage.Quiet, confessional)

What do you think about that? Is there something wrong with me, do you suppose?

DAVID
No.

ELIZABETH
I hope not. Because . . . I like you.

DAVID
Good. That’s good.

ELIZABETH
I wouldn’t tell you these things, if I didn’t.

DAVID
I understand.

ELIZABETH
I know you do.

(Pause.)

DAVID
Even if you didn’t like me, Elizabeth, you could trust me.

ELIZABETH
I know. I’d never actually do any of it, either. I’d never hurt anybody. Physically.

DAVID
I’m sure not.

ELIZABETH
But sometimes . . . I want to.

(Pause.)

DAVID
Is there anything that you want to tell me? Is everything . . . going okay?

ELIZABETH
Yes.

(Elizabeth now shy and self-conscious till building moves again.)

DAVID
You’re sure?

ELIZABETH
Yes. But you’re sweet. And I better be careful.

DAVID
Why? What do you mean? If you can trust me, what do you mean?

ELIZABETH
. . . never mind.

DAVID
You don’t have to be careful.

ELIZABETH
I know. But never mind.

DAVID
Okay.

ELIZABETH
Maybe later.

DAVID
Okay.

(Pause.)

ELIZABETH (of the building)
We moved again.

DAVID
I know.

(DAVID begins putting things away, removing the champagne and glasses, the coffee stuff, locking up the Illinois cabinet, preparing for them to leave. ELIZABETH rises and watches him from across the room. DAVID’s movements should have an absorbed, concentrated, almost ritualized appearance to them. After several moments of this DAVID goes to the lightswitch beside the front door and turns it off as he opens the door. Light enters from the corridor and casts long shadows of DAVID and ELIZABETH across the floor of the apartment. ELIZABETH continues watching him. Pause. They look at each other.)

 DAVID
It’s time.

ELIZABETH
Oh. Well, what do they say? You didn’t tell me.

DAVID
Who? What does who say?

ELIZABETH
The ones not coming to our little party tonight.

(ELIZABETH goes back to the window and looks down at the street again.)

You know who I mean. What do you think?

DAVID
I don’t know.

ELIZABETH
Tell me. Guess. They must think something. They’re at the end of their lives with no fish and no apples. Many, many people.

DAVID
I don’t know.

ELIZABETH
I’m curious. They must think something. They must think about us as often as we think about them. (She slowly crosses to the door beside DAVID.) Don’t you suppose? Don’t you wonder, wounded soldier?

(She gives DAVID a long kiss.)

What do you think? What do they say?

(She drifts out the door and into the corridor. DAVID looks back into the darkened room, then down at the shadows on the floor at his feet. Brief pause.)

DAVID (Alone, quietly, to himself)
They say,

“How did I end up here? I never hurt anyone. Why am I left with nothing? What have I ever done that was so wrong? So terribly wrong?”

(A soft elevator bell sounds from the corridor. DAVID looks toward it then exits, slowly closing the door.)                    

Scene Two  

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