My Romance, a Smokescreen, Act Three

My Romance, a Smokescreen

Act Three

Bare stage. MONICA enters, running on tiptoe, carrying a handheld mirror, trailing flower petals. Giggling, she exits opposite. Blackout. Lights up. Elsewhere. YORK, TAYLOR, ANDY, HEWITT.

YORK
She really thought something of herself -- that was clear enough. I mean she -- let's call her . . . Mildred -- she certainly was no beauty. To be blunt, she was actually quite boyish. In fact she bore a close resemblance to a gentleman of my own acquaintance. They could have been brother and sister, if you take my meaning. But really, the way she carried herself, smiling at everyone and so forth, you'd have thought she was Venus herself. Her hair hung so straight, and her ears stuck out. She looked like a pixie or something. It was embarrassing. Oh, if I were her -- the nights crying in front of the mirror, the injustice of it all. Horrible. Horrible. These outfits she wore -- oh, she just thought she was the cutest thing! They were the same everyday: the tights and the skirt with the sweater, or the skirt with the tights and the top, or whatnot. Too precious. It'd make you want to throw up, coming into work everyday to see her with her stupid little get-up, and her stupid little pixie ears, all stupid and laughing at some stupid thing. Oh, yes -- God's gift to the world, that was her. Made me sick, sick to my stomach to see someone so . . . plain just so full of herself. Here she probably went all through school waiting by the phone for some clod with a pock-marked face and a hare lip to call. Poor thing. I pitied her, actually. I'm not immune to suffering; I could take pity on her. Her figure wasn't unpleasant. She was just rather slender, that's all -- a little on the skinny side, kind of gawky, really. Not what I'd call shapely, not particularly womanly. Now, I don't regard myself as a chauvinist, you know. It's just that I prefer a more ample woman. Not fleshy, you understand, but ample. Take for instance the last time I saw her. I turned a corner and there she was, blabbing away with someone as usual. On this particular day she was wearing a dress, the only time I ever saw her in a dress. It was of a . . . well, I don't know the fabric, but it was . . . well, just a plain kind of . . . just a soft . . . well, it doesn't matter. The point is that she was gabbing and cackling away as always -- not with me, you know, never a how-do-you-do where I was concerned. I'd been heading in her direction, but the instant I saw her, it -- it was like a kind of shock, something in my brain just . . . well, I just spun around, and took off before she could . . . er, before she even . . . it was my brain, you see. I couldn't bear the sight. [Pause.] There was some point to my recalling this. I can't remember. Anyway, I lost my job soon after, and I never saw her again.

TAYLOR [Chuckling.]
Mildred, eh? Was that really her name?

YORK
Probably not. I don't know.

TAYLOR
Heh heh. What a nightmare.

ANDY [To HEWITT.]
It's going to be different this time.

HEWITT
Last time. It's going to be different last time. The future is a closed book, Andy, but the past is open wide.

Blackout. Lights up. Elsewhere. HEWITT, YORK, TAYLOR.

HEWITT
I would call her up, having nothing in particular to say. We would go through the usual small talk, relating the events of our day.

YORK
And you know, small talk is an unjust phrase at times. There is nothing small about conversation.

HEWITT
No, I realize that now.

TAYLOR
Pff. Trivia.

YORK
After a day of wearisome, disheartening work, I arrive home to my empty room, and believe me, my most fervent wish is that I had someone to phone up, to tell the most mundane details of my dreary, humdrum life. And you know what she'd do? She would tell me similarly gray, dull stories from her miserable, pitiful day. You know what else? We would do this everyday without fail. Because it's not trivial. It is in fact one of the most important things I know.

TAYLOR
Hmmph. Try reading a novel once in awhile.

YORK
Who in God's name has time for --

TAYLOR
You read a novel, and you experience a journey, a journey other than that with which you yourself are engaged. You see where someone else's journey takes them, and at the end you compare their journey to yours. It's something to measure yourself against; you take a measure of your life. Babbling endlessly about your visit to the foot doctor, or the bus ride home, or the color of the lettuce at the corner market -- you may as well compare your laundry lists, and hope to find some deep significance there. This day-to-day nonsense, living your life piecemeal -- it can't be done.

YORK
I am speaking of a lifeline. I am talking about the blood that binds two human beings together. The chemical composition of that blood is of no more use to me than that of the blood in my veins, assuming I have any left.

TAYLOR
It's a measure. It tells you something about yourself.

YORK
I know enough to know what I need.

HEWITT
Well said, friend. You have a way with words, a certain way.

YORK
From God's lips to my own.

TAYLOR
Really, now.

HEWITT [Recalling.]
"Once upon a time there lived a king who sat upon a golden throne, and ruled the land as far as the eye could see. One day as he went strolling through his luxurious gardens in the cool of the evening, he spied a leaf on the ground. His Majesty fixed it with his regal gaze, and commanded it to fly up into the air. Instantly, it rose and floated away, not due to any force residing within it, but because the very wind had borne it aloft. Thus am I, a vessel unto my creator." I read that somewhere.

YORK [Blushing.]
Oh, I don't know about all that.

HEWITT
Inevitably there would come a lull in the conversation. Between us there would be only the faint buzz of the telephone, maybe the sound of breathing or a sniffle, something in the background -- a tap running aimlessly on, a television somewhere, laughter down the hall. I didn't mind these moments. After all, when two people are together they can easily experience lingering spells of silence. The sun drifts behind a cloud, and they find themselves staring into each other's eyes. Or they cuddle up together and doze off, content with their company. But she would say, on the phone there is nothing to do but listen to the silence. And she didn't like that.

YORK
Well, if you have nothing to say . . .

TAYLOR
You both could use a few novels under your belts.

Blackout. Lights up. Elsewhere. NANCY, ANDY.

NANCY
I could almost feel safe here. And that's bad. It's warm and soft at my fingertips. But it travels. There's something in your eyes I thought I'd never see again, something I was sure I'd taken from you, and locked away where it could never touch me. You came too close. You opened up too much. I didn't mean to push you away, but I didn't know what else to do. But I've let my guard down. And there it is again. I won't have it. I'm mirrored there in a way I've never seen before, never up-close, out in the open. It's me, really me. You bring me out from where I hide. And it's wrong. Don't you see how cold and dead I am? It should send you away, screaming. But it doesn't. You don't see it at all. What do you do? You look at me with eyes more inviting than ever. And inviting me to do what? To be myself, as I really am? To be yours, to give myself to you, as I am? Or as you want me? I don't know. All these things. All these things. And do you know what? It's the worst thing in the world.

ANDY
I wish I could make you forget. I wish I could put my arms around you, and make all the hurt disappear.

NANCY
No, no, no . . .

ANDY
If I really loved you, I could.

NANCY
I'm going to curl up in a little ball now.

ANDY
No, don't.

NANCY
I'm curling up in a ball, as little as I can make it. And when I curl up in a ball, don't try to put your arms around the ball, because that only makes it worse.

ANDY
Why? Why? This is my fault, all my fault.

Blackout. Lights up. Elsewhere. HEWITT, YORK, TAYLOR, ANDY. ANDY has his head down on the table.

HEWITT [Displaying a paper to YORK.]
Okay, now if A is here, and B is -- what's the matter?

YORK
What is this?

HEWITT
What? It's cartography. A map. It's a map. See, A is here, all right? And B, B is here. Now, see what's in between. Space. Empty space. How much? You can't tell. You know why not? No scale.

YORK
You mean . . . you're here . . .

HEWITT
A is here, yes.

YORK
You're here and she's here . . .

HEWITT
A is here and B is here, yes.

YORK
So this . . . this is . . . huh!

HEWITT
Yes, anything.

YORK
This could be anything.

HEWITT
Right.

YORK
Huh!

YORK holds his palms a foot apart. Consults paper.

Huh! Or . . . it could be . . . uh . . .

Walks center stage. Looks back at table.

YORK
Hm.

Steps back to the table. Consults paper.

HEWITT
You see.

YORK walks center stage. Glances back at the table, craning his neck to see the paper. Looks out over the auditorium. Returns to the table. Takes the paper to center stage. Consults it. Looks worriedly over the auditorium. Looks at HEWITT. Gestures anxiously towards auditorium.

HEWITT
That's it.

YORK returns to his seat.

Okay, now where were we? Okay, you see where I'm headed with -- what?

YORK [Studying the paper intently.]
What if . . . what if she was over here?

HEWITT
What's that got to do with anything?

YORK
It just -- let me see your pencil.

HEWITT
No, it -- look, if you . . .

YORK
Okay. Okay, you're here, right? Okay, we'll leave you there for now. Okay. Now. If she was . . . if she's . . . how did you do this?

HEWITT [Grabbing back the paper.]
Oh, for God's sake. [Takes a seat by ANDY. Wistfully.] Only when we were making love . . . [His smile sours.] Fucking, she preferred to call it. [The smile gradually returns.] Only then could we be . . . close, I guess would be the word. A trifle obvious, but there you go. We could be . . . I could be . . . we could be . . . tender. We could . . . we could love. Then we could love.

ANDY glares at him, then puts his head down again.

HEWITT
Indeed. I'm hardly the type to mistake love for . . . sex. Sex.

ANDY glares again. Puts his head down again.

HEWITT
Indeed. Indeed. Point taken. It would surprise us both, I suppose, that we could share a moment. We weren't really about sharing, she and I. We were more resigned to taking, keeping the taking as balanced as possible. Never too much, we hoped, just enough to live, maybe a little more when it could be returned fairly enough. Never wanting to impose, to complicate things. In bed, though, it would surprise us, I think, that we could be doing . . . nice things for each other. We could . . . demonstrate, and forget, momentarily, how it would be when the lights came on. If everything was right, if everything went right, we could be . . . very close, I thought. For a minute. A moment. A minute. For a minute.

Indeed. Indeed. No sooner had it arrived than it was past. She'd be on her feet, gathering her things, to run for the next bus. And it would all drain away, like blood from a . . . from a bleeding . . . it doesn't matter. [Pause.] She was the only one.

YORK [Wistfully.]
Ahh!

TAYLOR
How quaint.

YORK
Sneer if you wish, sir, but I also happen to believe that for each of us there is that --

TAYLOR
That 'one special someone'? Yes, I'm -- [Coughs.] -- familiar with the notion.

ANDY
He's right, of course.

YORK
Aww . . .

ANDY
No, it's difficult to justify belief in such things.

YORK
Hmmph.

HEWITT
That wasn't what I meant. [NANCY enters, beckoning flirtatiously to HEWITT. He gets up, gives ANDY a nudge. Santa Claus voice.] Ho, ho, ho! [Winks at ANDY. Exits arm-in-arm with NANCY. Blackout.]

Elsewhere. YORK, TAYLOR, ANDY.

YORK
The important thing is that I won. She obviously couldn't have cared less about me anyway. Any idiot could see how I burned for her. Why, you could have felt it a mile away. And all that time she just blatantly refused to acknowledge my feelings. I mean, I don't ask for much -- a smile, for God's sake, or a tender look, a kind word or two. But no, she couldn't be bothered to even . . . she smiled now and then, I suppose.

TAYLOR
That's the one. I got all gussied up.

YORK
Oh, but I got her, and good! Let me tell you, there are women that I have lusted after with a fever that kept me awake at night, the blood pounding in my ears, my lungs heaving, my fingers grasping, wanting to touch -- a back, a neck. And there are women I have loved, whose jubilant spirit and thirst for life in all its naked, ugly truth made me beam like a little child just to be near. But may the Lord strike me down this instant if I'm lying when I say I have never, ever wanted and loved a woman the way I wanted and loved this . . . woman.

TAYLOR
And they called that a steak? Leather, I call it.

YORK
I only wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. I only wanted to take her in my arms and . . . I called her the most terrible things. I don't know why. I didn't mean them. I didn't mean any of them. I raised my voice. It wasn't right. She didn't deserve it. I guess . . . I guess I must have thought she did. At the time. Oh, a fire surrounds it all. How it hurts to remember. Why must I dredge it up at all? Oceans I cried, hot, scalding oceans. In the day I was like a ghost, seeing no one, hearing no one but her, finding her in every voice, every beam of light, every breeze. At night I tossed and turned, tumbling from waking dreams of her to sleeping dreams of her, losing track of which was which, which was the realer, which could I at least take a tiny measure of solace in.

But I won. I won. In my delirium I tore her from my heart, just wrestled her crippling presence right out. Why, I simply reached in and grabbed ahold of her where she hid, and I refused to let go, but ripped her right the devil out. Gone. Forever. Period. Except still she remained.

Well, I resolved to do the job once and for all, to destroy the love I felt, to see that it could never, ever break my heart again. I dove deep down inside, to the farthest, most remote places in my soul, and I burned out every shred of her, every trace, scorched out every last clinging, cancerous speck of her from inside me. I vowed to lay waste to the whole field if necessary, killing her and everything else my heart possessed -- anything to be rid of her. And I was. I had banished her at last. I had expelled each lingering drop of feeling I'd ever had for her. It was over, it was done with, and was gone forever from my heart.

And still she remained. She remains to this day. And I have poured out my blood time and time again to cleanse myself of her torturous image. But she stays. And even if I were to tear my heart from my chest, killing myself in the process, I could never obliterate the love I have for her. It has been spilled into the earth for all these years, and it is now far larger than I could ever be, part of everything that ever was. And it will live forever, long after I'm dead and my ashes scattered, after the memory of me has long been extinguished from this world. It is a dream that will never end, that no one can ever wake from. It can never die. I win.

Blackout. Lights up. As before. ANDY gazes into a handheld mirror.

TAYLOR
I built a woman once myself.

YORK
No! You?

TAYLOR
Oh, yes. Lovely creature.

YORK
Oh, that's wonderful. I mean, wasn't it?

TAYLOR
Oh, but she was radiant. Just an angel.

YORK
Oh, that's beautiful, beautiful. If . . . er, if it was.

TAYLOR
Why, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She was stunning.

YORK
Ah, the bliss, when two are in love.

TAYLOR
I loved her enough for the both of us. I'd say.

YORK
Mm. Most unpleasant.

TAYLOR
One needn't leap to conclusions.

YORK
I am sorry.

TAYLOR
I am hardly the type to go about boldly making passes at a woman.

YORK
Of course not, I didn't mean --

TAYLOR
We were the closest of friends, I'll have you know. One day I would surely have found a discreet way in which to . . . er, that is, the time arises of its own volition when . . . now, see here . . .

YORK
No, no, I understand completely. I myself never know what to say around women, particularly those I admire. Believe me, I know. Try to convince an attractive woman that it's more than her --

TAYLOR
Anyway, I was young then.

YORK
No, no, it's perfectly plain, what with the . . . uh . . . the way that the . . . um . . .

In the long silence that follows, ANDY is transformed into a beautiful flower. Long fade-out. Lights up. As before, minus ANDY/FLOWER.

YORK
I wrote her the loveliest letter. I said it all in that letter. I said it all, I tell you. It was so beautiful, just the peak of eloquence. Why, I was looking at it just the other night, and believe you me, it is a masterpiece.

Blackout. End.

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