...And any sign of domesticity saddens the tooth-fairy

02 February, 2022

Since I landed at SFO last night at 9:25 pm and it is now 3:34 am tomorrow tomorrow night

02 February 2022

Since I landed at SFO last night at 9:25 pm and it is now 3:34 am tomorrow tomorrow night.

This first endless paragraph is undoubtedly the most useful information anyone could ever have, from anyone, ever. So please follow carefully. Thanks will be accepted at some point using Kings Rules and subject to the Wet High Intensity Magnetic Separator (commonly known as whims).

Then I'll begin
I shall also explain, not that I have to, all these extra (fun!) bullet points.

And I know you can hardly wait. I'm that good.

The taxi service (for $55.56) that I had previously ordered and then needed to cancel (which I did as a response to the nice text from the driver and don't worry, the story gets more interesting I SWEAR) sent me a text saying that the driver was on his way. I called the driver to ask if he was really on his way as I had cancelled. He said no and that yes, he was aware that I had cancelled and that I should call the company www.booking.com (do not use for taxi service) and ask them what was going on as that info was coming from them.

I call, and they said that they couldn’t cancel without 24-hour knowledge and that responding to the driver wasn’t ‘kosher’ (my word, not theirs) and that they would not refund the money and that I should be in touch with a different number. Fine diddly-dee.

So before calling them, I called Uber, who said they would send someone. I waited and got a text saying that the Uber was there. Well, tell all your friends that Uber/Lyft do not/are not allowed (in better times, I would have checked this out) to pick people up at the arrivals gate.

So that Uber guy left. I called and ordered another and asked him to meet me at departures (‘cause they drop you off there, right?'). He said sure.

I went upstairs to meet him. Didn’t get there in time, so he left.

I called a third time and was again told that the departure level was fine. After about 10 minutes of texting, he said he was on the 5th level of the garage.

NOTA BENE: the elevator doesn’t go to the 5th level of the garage.

It’s called something else, like the 2nd floor. Please remain calm.

So he left.

At this point, I was actually crying. In public. Gypsy taxis came up to me offering to drive me home for $90 and, for some reason, this was the hill that I decided to die on and not put any more money on credit cards (after blowing out all credit buying my daughter: a bed, warm winter coat (hers was stolen in a car-jacking- please don’t ask), winter boots, a sofa, clothes, blankets, cigarettes (don’t @ me), food, cockroach traps, toothpaste - you name it I bought it.

I texted friends complaining about my misery, and most were v. sympathetic, but when one's friends live in, say, Boulder Creek or Campbell, I know they can’t help; I just needed to vent.

As for stalwart ex-boyfriend, he was asleep and didn’t answer until this morning with concern.

I finally called Lyft (for $88) and, while I was in the car, got a lovely text from another friend who offered to come fetch me. I’d marry him if he weren’t gay.

Really nice Lyft driver until he wouldn’t help me drag my suitcase up the front stairs. This tore what is left of any muscles/tendons in my back as I had stuffed my suitcase with goodies ranging from honey from Pennsylvania (so you won’t get allergies in the mid-Atlantic states) to special cookies that are NOT TO BE SOLD IN CALIFORNIA even though the P.O. Box for said cookies is, yeah, wait for it, in California, and even some jam that I drove out to Pennsylvania Dutch country to buy (I was looking for buggies and barn building). Saw a buggy parked at a very normal looking house. No barns but there are sure a LOT of Trump/Let’s Go Brandon flags around - hence THIS:

Where was I, oh yes - buying stuff from a very friendly lady in full Pennsylvania Dutch gear (basically a potato sack - so sue me) with the weirdest accent I ever heard.

But that’s not what was weird. What was weird was that the other customer in the shop advised me to buy their bagels.

And here I pause for a collective, ‘Say WHAAAAT?’

Yupsie Dupsie (that’s Pennsylvania Dutch), ‘Steamed! Like they do in New York City!’. Since I only had $5 to my name as my wallet had been stolen in a laundromat in Wilmington, and what had been left in its stead, helpfully (and possibly anti-Semitically - but I pass, right?), a crucifix,

I bought some jam. All that plus the gift of a brand new axe - seen here with the remains of a severed backscratcher that my mother broke in a fit of demented itching,

made the suitcase extra heavy.

Home to what I believed would be full-on hospice hell. It wasn’t scary at all as all hospice workers are flippin’ angels and, of course, have all the very best drugs - Haldol, Lorazepam, and the gold standard - Morphine. I basically empty the suitcase down the laundry chute and head upstairs. That night’s caregiver had been there for close to 36 hours and was happier to see me than I’d ever seen anyone look (at seeing me, that is). Then she began the run-down of the last two terrible weeks after mum’s 4th stroke ('I had a stroke?’ she said to me today), which I have semi-convinced myself because I was brought up this way, that she had the stroke two days after I left because I left. The cat goes berserk at seeing me and barely lets me take a shower. How nice to be welcomed back. I even got a note from our slightly mysterious tenant in the cottage at about 6 am saying:

Who the hell sleeps the whole night and gets up well-rested by 6 am?

And, more to the point, WTAF warranted such an outpouring of relief? And even more to the point, I have to be a comfort to you too??????

I responded as a mature adult:

When what I really wanted to say was, 'WHY?' What was so terrifying in "the front house?"

(it’s called The Big House number 1. "The front house" sounds like a merkin). Covens? A party of clowns? High school students making a film about chess and the meaning of death as interpreted through the lens (darkly - pretend I didn’t say that) of post-colonial nihilism?

STOP NEEDING ME, EVERYONE. I’M SICK OF IT.

Seriously now - my mother was so happy to see me that she almost broke into a limp. There were 2 caregivers on hand, both of whom were amazed at the transformation, 'She hasn’t smiled for 2 weeks!’ I felt loved and appreciated and even slightly hopeful that mum wasn’t as badly off as everyone had been saying. Well, it was more like whispering and muttering behind an arras in the court of Richard III - slightly surreptitious as no one wanted to upset me while I was gone on my mercy mission (which it truly was. Best decision I ever made. But, let me warn all of you out there, being a mother doesn’t magically end when you are, say 42 as it should, and you still have a modicum of youth and vitality left. It’s a road that heads towards the horizon and beyond and is also the truest definition of love I’ve ever felt. I am lucky to feel this - the great pain, both physical and psychic that my beautiful girl suffers knocked all ego and pettiness out of me, and I overflowed with comfort to be poured over her. Something peaceful in knowing that finally, finally, one is doing the right thing) (naturally, all this came to a screeching halt as soon as I was confronted with THIS DAMN DAY). Thinking that I’d really cheer mum up, later, I fetched all the post that had been held and unceremoniously dumped in the sitting room along with all sorts of goodies from Hospice - you know, waterproof bed pads, adult diapers, wipes, creams, lotions, more pads, more diapers. An aggressive but tempting postcard insisting I GO ON A REAL VACATION Fuck off, you disingenuous fucks, I said to no one. Stupid bills. Stupid tax documents. Stupid sheriffs bench warrant demands because my car (that I sold in September) had multiple parking tickets and was impounded in San Rafael. Yes, I’ve been dealing with this for months. Yes, I sent them copies of the Pink Slip. Yes, I sent them the DMV info.
(memo to self: Do I or do I not pay this actual parking ticket?)

And why can I not, for the life of me, format a simple document?

Oh, right! I remember!

It’s because I’m not good for anything as evidenced by my ex-husband's drearily pithy remarks to the court when he whined about paying support (and what a terrible mother I was) by saying that I was ‘an actress of sorts, specializing in “inconsistent acting gigs” as I like to call them'.

Ha Ha I just saw you through the car window and you look AWFUL and even though I consider getting a chin lift (I’m a superficial cow, actually), I look a thousand times better. SO THERE. I’m better than you. En Garde. Meet you at dawn. I win. Ptooey.

I did pay the parking ticket but will send a stern message to Edgar Allan Poe expecting some sort of compensation for the emotional distress in which I now find myself.

God help me - where am I in this saga. Does it even matter anymore?

I was actually going to write about the hell of legal crap, the sounds of the house being readied for repainting and lopping off of termite infested trellises because…well, let me just say that here in this lil ol’ town, which was once again named

The most expensive zip code in America,

not one single house is ever bought to live in. Every house, even a 5-year-old house, is torn down and an insane 37,000 sq. foot house with two 7,000 sq. ft basements and a secondary house - maybe called the Back House (but what do I know), which is a measly 12,000 sq. footer, is put up. Oh, Exsqueeeeze ME. The monstrosity across the road has been being built for 5 years, so puh-leeze for the love of God don’t get me started on the noise, the entitlement, the imported trees that brought down the power lines in the last rainstorm that California will ever have that cut out power for over 48 hours.

I was going to write as well about the calls with doctors, the cancelling of doctor appointments, the setting up of hospital bed delivery, the still leaking whatever under the kitchen sink, the front door that won’t open, the shock of the $999 PGE bill this month, the washing machine that fills with water and refuses to spin it out. If you need someone to bail out a clothes washer at 2 am, call me! Hey, I’ve nothing else to do! I also forgot to mention the fire alarm that went off when I was on the 9th floor of the grand old Du Pont Hotel at 5 in the morning and I ended up in pyjamas in 20 degrees in an alley.

Or the blood in the lift (yes that IS the right word - wherever you are, it has to go up to the 12th floor first AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT).

Don’t believe me?

Proof:

Or the snow bomb cyclone. Although I really enjoyed myself and am somewhat embarrassed by that.

Or that I HAVE NOT SLEPT YET. Or that my mother, at 3:01 am, wants oatmeal and hot chocolate.

It’s a PARTY!!

And to end, I quote Charlie Chaplin:

Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain.

You pathetic suckers.

The relief from pain is in my mother’s cupboard and it’s called Morphine

No comments:

17 February, 2019

Dispatches From The Dressing Room

Thoughts On Revenge

Backstage

When Slamming The Door Just Isn’t Enough

How I Stopped Worrying And Shot Myself In The Head

___________

Characters (In order of appearance)

Brita® Vannfilter - World-weary agèd servant. Motto: 30 is the new 75!

Old Aunt Ghoulia - An Angel of Mercy and ersatz Fashionista

Georgie Porgie Chestman - Assistant professor at Christiana Community College

Hella Gobbler “And Don’t You Forget That” Chestman - Only wears black and white and
is ready for her close-up at all times
Thora Elvestool née Riesling - Cosplayer and crybaby

Judge Bric-à-Brac - Known as Judge Creepy-Drawers by the local townspeople

Alert Loveboat - Child-murderer and Plagiarist

Ghosts:

The General - A Portrait

Brother George - Georgie's father

Aunt Ghoulia’s Sister - Georgie's other aunt

_________________________________

Notes:

The use of guns in this production does not mean that we have to follow the Chekhov rule*
if we don’t want. This is a play by IBSEN.
And it’s totally different from that Russian hack. Completely and utterly different.

* “Chekhov’s Gun' is a concept that describes how every element of a story should contribute to the whole.
It comes from Anton Chekhov's famous book writing advice:
'If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired’.

_________________

Pre-Show

[As the bell rings indicating the start of the show, several of the audience head towards the bathrooms.
In the lobby, one audience -member and the house manager are being attended to by paramedics
who are treating them for broken bones, having tripped over part of the set.
The start has now been postponed for 15 minutes.
At this announcement, an enterprising theatre-goer heads onto the stage and re-arranges the sofa to face the fireplace. ‘It only makes sense’, he says to applause]

Enya’s Greatest Hits play. Loudly

Pre-show speech delivered rapidly by the stage manager and sung from the booth. In Welsh -

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen. All back from the bathrooms??
Good. Welcome to Hedda Chestman. I mean, Hedda Gobbler- Chestman.
Please keep your feet to yourselves and whoever it was who re-arranged the furniture,
the theatre police and set-designer union bosses will be talking to you at the intermission.
Well, enjoy the show.

(Music gets louder, then abruptly turns off).

Lights up and….

ACT I

BRITA is lying on the sofa (unseen by audience due to aforementioned interference)

reading August Strindberg's 1909 novel ‘The Son Of A Servant’.

The doorbell rings

BRITA: Go away.

The doorbell rings again

BRITA: I said, go away!

The doorbell rings again

BRITA: Oh for fuck’s sake.

The doorbell rings. Again

BRITA: Jeez, hold your horses

She gets up and leaves the stage

BRITA re-enters with AUNT GHOULIA who wears a bucket on her head.

BRITA: Keep it down, they’re sleeping

The doorbell rings again

BRITA: Ignore it. Come on in, Auntie ma’am. I need to vent

AUNT G enters. Looks around: What a dump.

BRITA: I know. It’s been like this since last night when they arrived.
I was supposed to do something with all the luggage and baggage and bags ‘n stuff but…

AUNT G: I bought some lilies and a cactus to liven things up

BRITA: Ta. I’ll need all the help I can get. You know I’m still furious that you shopped me out
to live with Georgie Porgie and his..

AUNT G: cutting her off: I think he prefers the term Herr Mister Gobbler now.

BRITA: I know but… but..

AUNT G: Spit it out

BRITA: I just can’t deal...

AUNT G: I know, but you must. I’m really willing to give that bitch some leeway.
But one false step and she’s (makes slitting throat gesture)...

BRITA: Speaking of those sorts of things. How’s your sister?

AUNT G: Not dead yet. I just finished burying my brother’s body in the woods, so it’s good
to have a break.

BRITA: Whatever.

AUNT G: How nice to have a sofa facing the fireplace this time. Someone has some sense
in this household. Can’t have been my dolt of a nephew…

Enter GEORGIE: I thought I heard my name!!

AUNT G: Welcome back. I have to leave though as I’m exhausted from staying up so late last night.
And curse you for making me have to deal with old Bricabrac. Disgusting man.

GEORGIE: Oh Auntie, what a card you are. Let me show you a jig I learned on my wedding trip
(starts to dance on one leg)

AUNT G: Well that was a waste of a honeymoon

HELLA Offstage: STOP DANCING YOU IDIOT. I CAN HEAR YOU. HOW MANY TIMES…
( sound of glass breaking) WHY ARE THERE VASES EVERYWHERE??? BRITA!!!

BRITA: Here we go...see ya

GEORGIE: I’m so happy to see you. The wedding trip was, well, not exactly what I was expecting.
Hella spent all the time at the cinema and at the spa

AUNT G: Sounds good to me

GEORGIE: But it did give me time to work on the Christmas baskets. Oh, and also I kept a diary.
Recipes, mainly Can I read some of it to you?

AUNT G: If you must

GEORGIE: I would love to! Det vil håndtere den innenlandske industrien i Brabant i middelalderen,
før Hapsburgene, selvfølgelig. Spesielt tekstilene, du vet, woolens og silke, og så, og hvordan …

AUNT G: Well, well, well. Once again it’s all Greek to me

GEORGIE: No Auntie, it’s not Gree...Hark!! I hear my angel marching down the hallway!

HELLA enters. She is more than five, nearly six, months pregnant

GEORGIE: (rushing to her) My angel! My love! My sweet, sweet heart!!

HELLA (ignoring him) Why, Aunt Ghoulia. As if I didn’t hear enough of you on our wedding trip.

AUNT G: Whoa! Heavens to Betsy! You gained a shit ton of weight. And bless me, you can’t even

carry it well and you look dumpy.

HELLA: Oh, PUHLEEZE. This coming from someone wearing a bucket on her head??
Don’t make me laugh.

AUNT G: It’s from Copenhagen you dumb cluck.

HELLA: Oh, just because it’s foreign, makes it special??

AUNT G: Brita! Open the door for me

HELLA: She works for me now so don’t even think about it

BRITA enters: I have to go to the library, so I have to open the door

HELLA: Go out the back way, minion

BRITA: No. Come on Auntie Ma’am

AUNT G: Goodbye Georgie Porgie. See you later. And if I were you,
I’d tell your wife to cut back on the sweets

HELLA: I can hear you

AUNT G: So sue me.

(AUNT G and BRITA leave)

GEORGIE: Oh my darlingest of darlings. I’m so glad you and Auntie had a nice chat.
She’ll be back here for lunch

HELLA: Oh for christ’s sake. (sighs. And lies down on the sofa)

GEORGIE: (hysterical) Hella!! Where are you??? Don’t desert me. I’m sorry. For everything. HELLA!!

BRITA: (enters carrying a stack of library books) I’m back. I’ll just leave these here
(throws books on the sofa)

HELLA: What the….!

BRITA: Oh. Sorry. Not sorry.

HELLA: Help me up

BRITA: Sorry. Back issues. Oh, there’s a grown woman dressed like Little Orphan Annie outside.

HELLA: What?

GEORGIE: Dearest of dearhearts, The village wants to meet and greet you. Do let her in

HELLA: Fine. I need someone new to be tired of. Brita. The door?

BRITA:(yelling) COME ON IN

(A tapping noise is heard)

HELLA: Is it a blind person?? I don’t want any cripples in my house. Get it out of here

GEORGIE runs to comfort HELLA

THORA enters

HELLA: Thea? Thea is that you?

THORA: No. No it’s not

HELLA: You can’t fool me...we were at school together. I used to try and scrub those
freckles off your face

GEORGIE: Annie? Annie?? I remember you from the orphanage! Welcome. Welcome.
Please take a seat (shoves the books, lilies and cactus onto the floor)

THORA sits on the sofa. HELLA and GEORGIE struggle to stand where they can see her.

HELLA: Georgie. Turn the sofa around now

GEORGIE: But…

HELLA: Do it. NOW

GEORGIE: Of course my love

THORA: I’ll just stand over...over there by the invisible chairs

HELLA: Fine. So. What are you doing here Thea

THORA: It’s Annie. Annie Warbucks. Mrs. Annie Warbucks

HELLA: Oh god, I don’t care

THORA: Thank-you

HELLA: But please, don’t waste any more of my time. What do you want?

THORA: I...I…(bursts into tears)

HELLA: Stop that immediately. Tell me what’s wrong so I can send you on your way

THORA: (through tears) I don’t know how to say this without weeping and tearing at my clothes but...
but (bursts into tears again). Oh God! What am I to do??? Help me. Please

GEORGIE: I’d help but I’m having a bit of trouble here. Could someone help me?

THORA: (tearing at her wig) Oh God in heaven! What to do (rocks back and forth, keening)

GEORGIE: Um, could someone give me a hand, please?

HELLA: WHY IS THIS MY LIFE??? Brita! Get in here and help out. Meanwhile, what to do
What, indeed, to do?
Ah. I’ll ask Daddy
(she runs into a room that is covered with cobwebs, creaky floorboards. Scary music is heard)
Daddy! Daddy! What fresh hell is this? What? No, I haven’t gained weight. The Battle of the Bulge??
How could you! Oh, I see! A clue. A battle. Right. I’ve got this! Thank you Daddy dearest
(runs back into the so-called sitting-room brandishing a pistol)

SHUT UP the lot of you or I’ll shoot!

(Georgie and Thora immediately quiet)

There. That’s better. Let’s all just sit down for a second and take a breath.

(They sit)

GEORGIE/THORA: Sorry

HELLA: Don’t mention it

(The gun goes off)

HELLA: Oh, Sorry

GEORGIE/THORA: It’s fine. Really

Enter BRITA: Did you call?
HELLA: Kinda sorta

BRITA: Well?

HELLA: Could you remove all the flowers and bring us something to drink. Please

BRITA: Well since you asked so nicely, sure. Coffee, Tea or Me?? (Exits. Pleased with herself)

HELLA: So, Mrs Warbucks

THORA: Feel free to call me Annie

HELLA: OK. So, Thea, what the what?

THORA: I hardly know where to begin….

HELLA: Just start at the very beginning

GEORGIE: Hey! I know that song

(HELLA throws the cactus at him. After a minute he takes out some strips of coloured paper
and begins weaving a Christmas basket)

THORA: Well, it sounds like a farce but...but...(bursts into tears again). Oh God! What am I to do???
My Chef ran off with a lounge-singer called Artemis

HELLA: Artemis? Seriously? (gets the giggles) Really?

THORA: Yes. Is that funny?

HELLA: No, not really

THORA: And I tracked them to this very village!

HELLA: Well what can I do about it? I’m just back from my (she makes air-quotes) honeymoon.
As you know

THORA: I was wondering if, maybe, just maybe, you could ask him round to maybe, like,
cook a welcome-home meal. Or something

HELLA: Why would I want to do that?
THORA: (bursting into tears again again) Because, well, because…

HELLA: Stop that (slaps her). What’s the real story here Mrs Warbucks?? Come on. Spill

THORA: I think that you and your husband might have known him when he was at the...at the...CIA

HELLA: What are you talking about?

GEORGIE: The CIA?

THORA: Um. Yes?

HELLA: I have a husband?? What the hell are you….oh. Right. Fuck.

GEORGIE: By George! That Chef. Is he still going by the name of Eggplant Loveboat??

THORA: Not quite. It’s Alert Loveboat, now

GEORGIE: Wow. That’s a good one. Well, hooray for him! How’s he doin’?

THORA: Here’s his address. Could you invite him over? I need him back in time for...well never mind.
And if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could engage Artemis in some chit-chat over a drink
She needn’t know I’m here

GEORGIE: Good ole Eggplant. Well, well. Hadn’t thought about the CIA for ages!

THORA: Oh thank-you, thank-you! (ferociously, she grabs Georgie’s lapels and wipes her nose on them)
I’ll pay you back, somehow (she cries)

GEORGIE: Well I’ll just get my galoshes then…(he exits)

SILENCE

HELLA: What the FUCK??? The CIA? What’s going on Thora?

THORA: Nothing. Nothing's going on.

HELLA: My nails are itchin’ to get those remaining freckles, Thea

THORA: Okay, okay

GEORGIE enters heading towards the door to leave

HELLA: Hold up. What, WHAT is that on your feet?

GEORGIE: Nostalgie De La Boue, my dear, Nostalgie De La Boue

HELLA: Am I supposed to know what that means?

THORA: Oh they are just lovely. Really Mr Chestman Gobbler, truly exquisite

GEORGIE: Thank you, Mrs Warbucks, they were galvanized by my dear Aunt Gh...

HELLA: GET OUT. NOW.
Now. Where were we. Ah yes, the friggin’ CIA. Well?

THORA: It’s an acronym

HELLA: What? Sorry?

THORA: You know…

HELLA: Actually, Thora, I don’t. And I’m beginning not to care. Where are our drinks. Brita!!

THORA: Well, after I tell you, can I ask you a question?
HELLA: Sure

THORA: The CIA stands for… (whispers in Hella’s ear)

HELLA: Do you really expect me to believe that that man, my h..h..husband was an Intelligence Officer?
Really, Thea, I’m not stupid.

THORA: Sorry (weeps) And it’s Thora. Not that it matters.

HELLA: So you don’t have to whisper that it’s not THE CIA

THORA: I’m sorry. Can I ask you my question now?

HELLA: You really are a dim bulb, aren’t you. A right blockhead, you.
No, you cannot because you haven’t told me what I want to know

THORA: Oh, right. The CIA is the (whispers in her ear again)

HELLA: Down the hall to your left...Christ almighty. Brita!! Drinks! Now!

BRITA enters: There’s a man here to see you

HELLA: Well show him in. Oh I am so weary. Weary of this life. I was promised so much. So, so much
(she goes to the mantlepiece and looks in the mirror) Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?

BRIC-A-BRAC enters (he has an eye-patch): Why you are, without question! My dear Hella Gobbler!
The most luscious woman in Christendom. And such a change to see you by daylight, no?

HELLA: And you too, sir. You have altered your appearance since I saw you last.

BRIC-A-BRAC: Ah, dear Madame, you noticed. How observant we are in the morning light.
Let me kiss your hand

HELLA: Go ahead. If you wish. But remember I am now a married woman.
But, dear sir, am I altered since you saw me last?

BRIC-A-BRAC: Indeed. I am ashamed that I did not mention it immediately. Please forgive me

HELLA: You’re forgiven. So…? (she plays with her hair)

BRIC-A-BRAC: You are luminous. As a star in our outer heavens.
You are like a glowing orb in the denseness of the universe, which though expanding,
cannot hold a candle to your salubrious and ever-thickening centre.
You are a Botticelli maturing into a Rubens. I want to devour you

HELLA: Did you just say I’m fat?

BRIC-A-BRAC: A juicy morsel. Like bacon on the Eiffel Tower. A wonder of wonders.

HELLA: What do you want?

BRIC-A-BRAC: Actually it is your husband with whom I wish to speak

HELLA: A: He’s not here and B: Please don’t.

BRIC-A-BRAC: Aha! A riddle! ‘Please Don’t’. What does this mean?
I delve, with your permission, into your inner workings. No. No, I can’t.
Tell me, oh Teasy-McTease-face, don’t what?

HELLA: Just don’t use that word. Husband. I’m really over it all. What a bore. I miss my life.
I need to sleep.

BRIC-A-BRAC: Rest your weary head on my shoulder.
I offer myself to you as though I were the softest cushion from Persia.
All magic and enchantment, twirling and spun like sugar into/

HELLA: See this pistol?

BRIC-A-BRAC: Indeed. I will keep my peace for now. But a glimpse of your
(Hella puts the pistol to his un-patched eye). I rest my case

BRITA enters: Little Orphan crybaby has clogged the toilet with loo-paper/

THORA enters. crying: I'm so, so sorry. I'm humiliated! Humiliated! (starts hitting herself) Bad me. Bad me. Bad me. (realises that no one is going to stop her so collapses onto the floor) I used far too much toilet paper to try and temper my tears. What am I to do??

HELLA: You are to get up off the floor, take off that ridiculous wig and tell me what the hell my husband has to do with the C.I.A

BRIC-A-BRAC: Let me help you up, dear lady. Dry those tears (offers her his handkerchief. It is made of moss)

THORA: You're being awfully kind. I'm not used to that

BRIC-A-BRAC: Let me help you off with your wig. And what a ravishing wig it is. Now your dress and then your stockings and other delicious sundries/

HELLA: Cut it out Judge. Thea, you can collect yourself in one of the many empty rooms we have here. God knows what we're going to fill them with. Maybe ponies and servants and a golden coach encrusted with diamonds. Just rest and leave me to have an adult conversation with the Judge.

THORA: How kind you all are, how will I ever repay you? I'll go to my rest now. Thank-you (tries to kiss HELLA who flicks her away. Like a bug) Thank-you. (crosses to BRIC-A-BRAC and offers her hand)

BRIC-A-BRAC: Sweetest shepherdess (kisses the inside of her wrist) Rest well

THORA exits. crying

BRITA: I guess I'll go get a plumber (exits)

HELLA: Well, before we continue, I must tell you that I find your name, Judge Bric-a Brac, a bit of a mouthful. Isn't it about time that we call each other by our Christian names?

BRIC-A-BRAC: At last! A day I have been waiting for my entire life! Before, you posed me a riddle, which, unfortunately, I could not solve, due to my overwhelming ignorance, yet I wonder, now, if you might pose a guess as to my given name?

HELLA: Really? I don't play games. It's beneath me to tangle with you

BRIC-A-BRAC: Reminds me of the saying 'It takes two to Tango and three to make a soap opera! (laughs at his own joke). Funny, no?

HELLA: Sure. Okay, I'll jump (turns away, rolling her eyes which she follows with other signs and sighs of exasperation) um....Ignatz?

IGNATZ: Oh fishhooks!! Zoodickers!! Oh my wig and whiskers!! You seductress! You know me too well (attempts to kiss her)

HELLA: Oh come on. I just thought of the most ridiculous name I could

IGNATZ: And a jokester as well! Come to me, my melancholy baby...

BRITA enters: I found you a plumber (exits)

Enter GEORGIE
HELLA (looking straight at him): Well at least you're prompt. The bathroom is down the hall. And please remove your boots
GEORGIE: Ah! My devoted wife. What a funny bunny you are
HELLA: What? I'm sorry but do I know you....Oh. Crap
GEORGIE: Why Judge Bric-a-Brac, what a welcome visit. Please, please sit down. Hella, you too. Let's chat like the old friends we are
HELLA: We're calling him Ignatz now
GEORGIE: Why?
HELLA sighs and lights a cigarette
IGNATZ: I'm glad to see you both, after your obviously successful honeymoon
HELLA: Don't make any more personal remarks, Judge. My husband can hear you
IGNATZ: Of course, my dear lady. So, to business, to business.
HELLA: Brita! Bring us some punch!
GEORGIE: What is it Judge Ignatz? Do you have word of my appointment as the pre-eminent restaurant reviewer for The People's Herald?
IGNATZ: Well, That's what I wanted to talk to you about
GEORGIE: Have you heard anything?
HELLA: That's what he meant when he said he wanted to talk to you. Brita!
GEORGIE: Really? IGNATZ: Indeed
BRITA: WHAT??
HELLA: Drinks?
BRITA: What about them?
HELLA: Are you bringing them?
BRITA: No. Actually, I'll make myself comfy since I'm almost finished with À la recherche du temps perdu
HELLA: Why is everyone speaking French? We aren't Russian Aristos, but by god,
I'd love to be in Moscow right now, sitting at a table at Testov's or the Grand Moscow…
IGNATZ: Well, shall we get back to business, Ladies? Gentleman? I haven't heard anything definite, but I do have one piece of news for you
HELLA/GEORGIE: Yes?
IGNATZ: For Mr. Chestman, Madam. Begging your pardon of course.
HELLA lights another cigarette
BRITA shaking her head: Tsk, tsk...In your condition? Really?
HELLA: If you don't put a sock in it, I'll send you back to that old witch
BRITA: Fine by me
GEORGIE/IGNATZ: Girls, girls, girls (they look at each other mouthing 'women, you can't live with them, you can't...)
HELLA: SHUT UP
BRITA: Idiots

IGNATZ: So, your old friend Alert Loveboat is back in town.
GEORGIE: I know that already
IGNATZ: May I ask you, humbly, how you know this to be true?
GEORGIE: I just had drinks with his mistress
IGNATZ: Ah, the beautiful Artemis. The Hunter of ancient lore. Well perhaps she mentioned that he is up here for an interview with The People's Herald
GEORGIE: WHAT?? No, that's impossible. But how inconsiderate of me he is. This is awful. How am I supposed to make money staying in that stupid community college? Everyone there is a dumbo. Yes, I said it. Dumbos! Imbeciles! Pinheads! Ignoramuses! Morons! The lot of them
HELLA: Why now, Georgie, if you truly feel that way, why do you care about that left-wing rag? I think The Morganbladet would be more up your alley
IGNATZ: I must leave you fine people for the time being. I shall stop in later. Au revoir
BRITA: I'll accompany you. Time for another library run. A more serious, academic book, I think. This was nothing more than an annotated tome about French cuisine. I feel as though I understand more about madeleines than Escoffier could possibly imagine in his philosophy
They exit

GEORGIE: Oh, I had intended such a different life for you, my dear
HELLA: Figure it out, Chestman. I'm going off to target practice
GEORGIE: I'm still upset you know. Could use some comfort here
HELLA: You'll get but cold comfort from me. Until you get a well-paying job. And even then...(she exits)
GEORGIE ruminating: Huh. She has gained weight. I'll go tell Aunt Ghoulia that she was right, again!
Oh how I love my auntie (skips out)

Blackout

(Scattered applause)

~~Act 2~~ Act I sc.2

HELLA: PULL! (A wild duck is thrown onstage)

IGNATZ enters: It is I. Skittering out of the shadows to visit you, dear Madam

HELLA: Have a seat. PULL! (another duck is hurled onto the stage)

IGNATZ: I'm glad to see that Hella has found a vocation

HELLA: Not on your life. This is dinner. Brita! Food delivery!

Well? What do you want?

IGNATZ: Your husband, where might he be?

HELLA: Guess

IGNATZ: Ah, the ever-loving nephew

HELLA: Just so (She moves to sit across from Ignatz. He stands up, she sits. He sits. They stare at each other)

I'm bored (She stands. He stands. She moves to sit in his chair. He moves to sit in her chair. She sits. He sits. They stare at each other)

I'm bored again

IGNATZ: I could do the chicken dance for you

HELLA: That's disgusting

BRITA enters: There's a gentleman asking if you are at home, ma'am

HELLA: Show him in

GEORGIE enters: Ah, my precious dove! And, Judge! A pleasure

HELLA: The ducks are waiting to be plucked or whatever you do with them.

Thank-you Mr. Groundsman.

GEORGIE: Ah, always joking! Tickle monster! (tries to kiss Hella)

HELLA: We have guests. Stop

GEORGIE: Guest, dearest, not guests plural

HELLA: This is ludicrous, my life is a living hell. It's like living in a school room. I can't move without being told I may trip. I can't sleep without being told to 'sleep well'. I can't sit on the sofa without a pillow being urged behind my back. I have no friends. Nothing happens. We don't even have a television

GEORGIE nervously: Oh you JOKESTER!! (stage whisper) It's 1891. Hella darling, what are you saying? Are you ill? Take a powder.

HELLA: What? 1891? Are you mad?

GEORGIE: Hella...

IGNATZ: Madam, may have a point here Chestman, although, due to my deeply profound studies of psychology, I think that she may be projecting her madness on to you. Such is the way of expectant women.

GEORGIE laughing a bit too loudly: Oh haha! Ha Ha Ha! I thought you were a Judge, sir! Not a doctor

IGNATZ: I am a Doctor. A Doctor of Law

GEORGIE: Ah, Right. My mistake.

HELLA: People! Pay attention. There are no such things as lucite chairs in 1891. Nor a 'coffee table'. I grant you that the Judge here is dressed in loftier threads but seriously...

BRITA enters: There's a gentleman asking if you are at home, ma'am

HELLA: Again? Show him in and get rid of the fowl

BRITA yelling: COME ON IN

ALERT LOVEBOAT Enters. He is shadow boxing: MY PEEPS!

(He runs round to everyone giving them high-5's) WOO-HOO! We're in the 29th inning

of Game 3.

Unfuckingbelievable!! Brock Holt just walked and advanced on a wild pitch. Scored the go-ahead run on an infield single by Eduardo Núñez and a throwing error by pitcher Scott Alexander. Then in the bottom of the inning, Max Muncy walked against Nathan Eovaldi, advanced to second on a pop out to Núñez in foul territory and then scored the tying run after an infield hit by Yasiel Puig and a throwing error by Ian Kinsler. Muncy then hit a walk-off home run off Eovaldi in the 18th inning. Good Lord. I need a drink

The doorbell rings

BRITA: I'll get it. Did someone mention Puig? I just finished reading 'Maldición eterna a quien lea estas páginas' * as I was cooking supper.

*Eternal Curse on the Reader of These Pages

THORA runs in, breathless. She is dressed as Harpo Marx runs to LOVEBOAT:

Thank god I got here in time! You don't drink anymore! Remember?

LOVEBOAT: Ah, Mrs Elvestool! Fabulous get-up. (grabs her and says in a low voice) What are you doing here?

THORA whispering back: I, I don't know (bursts into tears) I thought it was a party (cries)

HELLA: Everyone just calm down. Thora, take that wig off and come sit by me on the sofa

and I'll show you photos from my honeymoon. Mr, Loveboat, why don't you join us.

I can sit on your lap (Thora weeps loudly). Ignatz and Chestman, why don't you go play

Old Maid. There's a pack of cards (she gestures, blandly) over there. Somewhere.

Everyone crowds onto the sofa

HELLA: Once upon a time.... just kidding. Anyway, here we are in the town of Whakhulaaaah in the mountainous region of Dolmieeteteteee. We stayed at...

Oh never mind. What's next?

IGNATZ: BINGO! Again Chestman?

GEORGIE: No, I must to work go.

IGNATZ: Mesdames et Messieurs! May I have your attention, please!

HELLA: Only if you speak in English, Judge

IGNATZ: I speak in jest, Madam

HELLA: As long as it's in jesting English

IGNATZ: Gestational, is perchance what you mean, my dear?

THORA: Is that like pig-Latin?

GEORGIE nervously laughing, again: Ah, what good friends they are. Ha ha! Maybe you should move in, Judge! The witty, if I may say, repartee, warms the cockles of my heart ha ha ha

HELLA: I have to speak to Daddy, if you'll excuse me (flounces into the portrait gallery/music room)

LOVEBOAT: You may have gone a bit far there, Judge

THORA: Please don't fight (cries)

There is a gunshot

THORA screams

GEORGIE: Oh my! She'she's playing with her gun again. I've told her not to do that in the house excuse me! (he rushes to HELLA)

Raised voices are heard from the portrait gallery/music room

IGNATZ: Dear me, I think we may have wandered into a lover's quarrel. Now it may be a good time to...

GEORGIE comes back into the room: Nothing to worry about. Everything's fine. Hella would just like a little lie-down. Maybe we should leave her alone...

IGNATZ: Well, well, I must say the timing couldn't be better! I was about to invite the gentlemen to a party at my club. Nothing fancy. There will be music and dancing maidens. Slapdashery and cooking. I sincerely hope that both you, Chestman, and you, Loveboat, could prepare a delicacy of your own choosing. I would love to see a rematch of your trials

at the end of your culinary course. What was it that you both had to prepare? And what a battle royale it was! Come, gentlemen, my carriage awaits.

They begin to leave

THORA: What about me?? (Sobbing) What am I to do?? (Weeping) I want to go home (Wailing). Please don't abandon me! (Bawling)

LOVEBOAT: You little ninny, I'll come by and fetch you in the morning. Sleep tight!

The men exit

THORA cries herself to sleep. Standing up

BERTA enters. Lounges on the sofa with a copy of 'Parnassus on Wheels' by Christopher Morley.

An echo of a gunshot is heard

BLACKOUT

Music

https://youtu.be/A2Rj2UxJRtU

INTERMISSION

ACT 3ish-4ish

nota bene;

I was in olde Blighty for the winter hols. and erased all memory of what happens next.

If you really need to know, go read HG (in translation if you absolutely must).

But here's a clue

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Toodle-oo ffolkes.
Signing off from the great beyond