She was certainly up to something. You should have seen her getup! Lying to me only makes me more suspicious. She thinks I can’t tell when she’s lying but it’s actually pretty easy. She has a “tell” as Penn, my on again off again boyfriend gambler, would say. She widens her eyes like she’s trying to hypnotize you. Works wonders on men – if she’s appropriately suited up. Maybe not so much in granny guise.
Could this be the result of my anonymous letter? I certainly didn’t expect a reaction this extreme! I was just laying groundwork, so to speak. Trying to master my frustration.
I pretended to drive away, listening to the mix CD (title: “I Hate My StepMom”) that I made for myself. First up: Scars of Life’s Bullet With Your Name On It. Ha ha. Always makes me feel better. Parked at the boat launch and walked back to the house up the beach. A few hours when I can be certain she won’t be home is too precious an opportunity to pass up. I love sneaking around in her house – my house – the house she bought with our money –the thrill is downright sexual. Probably something like what Penn feels when he looks at Internet porn. They expect you to look: it’s all for show. An addictive frisson composed of loneliness and unseen participation.
You can’t call it “breaking and entering” when it’s your own house. I never had difficulty with the security system. There’s one codeword – six letters, none repeated. Anyone with a brain could figure that out. She sees herself as the High Priestess of her own little tarot card, fortune-telling cult – she’s a nut about palmistry and astrology, too. She makes such a fuss about her symbol as the “Queen of Swords” She even wears a little golden dagger around her neck. (Bought with our money.) But Queen doesn’t fit and Swords has a repeat letter. Same with dagger. So what would you do if – let’s say – you were massively undereducated? I tried “SWORDZ” — worked the first time! I can’t tell you what a boost that gave my confidence. Now I know I can outthink her.
Of course she could change the word. She could install cameras. Knowing she’s overconfident, I can’t afford to make the same mistake. I have to strike fast and invisibly. I call it “spelunking”. You never know what you might find.
I look for anything different. Recent acquisitions. How has she been spending our money? I try not to touch things but sometimes I just can’t help myself. Snooping makes me need to pee and when I use her private bathroom I fantasize that the electrically warmed toilet seat is heated from her touch. She left it nice and warm – for yours truly. “Queen of Swords” – bullshit! More like queen of the wolves. Better look out, there’s always some other big mean bitch coming up behind you.
Peering through the floor to ceiling glass windows along the deck I saw the book right away. It’s so big it looks like a freakin’ briefcase. Mauve suede with gold-deckle leaves. Laid out so appetizingly on her faux-Empire writing desk – that must have cost a pretty penny – along with my father’s Art Deco desk accessories. But I couldn’t be so lucky that she would actually write anything there. It’s probably a scrapbook or some such thing. Maybe she bought it to record my anonymous letters! In spite of a fancy vocabulary acquired from my father she’s basically illiterate. All her books are just for show; you know the kind: “Castles of Ireland”, “English Country Houses”, “Japanese Gardens”. Here I am, scrawling my every idea in a dollar-fifty steno book, because that’s the way I was raised. Planning. First draft, second draft, third draft, show! Give your ideas the best presentation possible before you send them out begging.
I wondered if that “knitting bag” of hers contained the anonymous letter. Who was she gong to consult? The police? A private detective? Someone she wanted to view her as a victim. Someone she had never seen before, obviously. Thrilling! Who knew I had so much power?
I was ready to run around front and let myself in when my cell phone went off. Office. Needs me Stat. I’d have to save Charmian’s Big Book for another time. This earning-a-living-business sucks ass.
On the morning I was under mandate to show up at the courthouse I routinely pulled a card. Justice. This is the balance card, the card of the Midnight Court. In the Midnight Court, women weigh men in the balances. On the face of my card the Goddess pulls down her blindfold to peek out at the man she assesses. As we all know, Justice requires assistance. It is built on the bodies of those who must submit. The Goddess herself calls me to sit on that jury.
Carefully I assembled my disguise. Any well-appointed home has just the thing. I went upstairs to the second bedroom to see what I could pull together.
Of course I don’t call it a “bedroom” around anyone else. They might get ideas. It doesn’t even contain a bed. Officially, it’s The Boxroom.
I live in the most beautiful house on the lake. Everything about it is perfect except its rather silly name – “Topside”. Some sailing expression. I was happy to wash my hands of Dr. Quantreau’s hideous house in Colorado Springs. Vast, dark, creaky and vaguely Japanoid. “Modern” back in the fifties. Ugh. Topside is too perfect even to allow a housekeeper, or maid, like the ones I had back in Colorado Spring. It would be too intimate, having another person here. I relish caring for all my beautiful objects. It doesn’t take up too much of my time to stroke my own beast.
Boulder is a much more happening place than poor old Colorado Springs. Here, we are all making ourselves up as we go along out here. How you were born is no comment whatever on how you will end up. Life on the lake combines the best of both worlds; the power, tradition and beauty of the status quo with the fiery challenge, the imaginative power of the self-made.
Whenever I step inside my door I hug myself. All this space is just for me. Three bathrooms and a massive two storey living room whose glass wall overlooks the lake, a pro chef’s kitchen (in case I entertain); even “a media room.” Plus underground storage for my current “baby”, a gold convertible Mercedes SL.
I sigh as I tell my stepdaughters that it is not a good house for children. Too full of treasures. And the lake is so dangerous. That’s why all family parties need to be at McKenzie’s house. She has a pool. I try not to visibly smirk as I watch five dirty children struggling to exhaustion in the chlorinated water. Then I finish my drink – McKenzie’s wine is as good as anybody’s – I know because I bring it myself – and leave. As I disarm and rearm the security system the house itself seems to sigh with pleasure. “I have been waiting for you.”
The Boxroom is where ill-advised gifts come to die. Who can know me well enough to actually give me anything? Not a soul on this planet, sister. On this morning I was looking for a specific sweatshirt given to me by McKenzie’s youngest. It’s pink, it’s covered with strange-looking cotton balls and it says Best Granma Ever!
Wig? I thought of that already – my sex club wigs certainly won’t do. Do they even sell gray wigs? Baby, they sell everything. Gray wig, check. No makeup. Ouch. Reading glasses. Big-bottomed elastic waisted Mom jeans. Am I shameless enough to pad them? Why not? Could be amusing. A couple pairs of the boys’ jams that form my usual lakeside attire ought to thicken me up nicely. Wow. If I had long brunette hair I’d look just like Whitney.
Add a tapestry bag full of yarn and canvas and there she is, the Widow Quantreau. Fair, balanced, but so easily swayed. Inexperienced – deliberately — in the ways of the world. The Widow Quantreau has kept her mind pristine. She tries to think only the best of people. In her life unpleasantness has always been taken care of by someone else. She hasn’t had to fight her way up, the way I have. The status quo is God-given and naturally right, and all who breach it should be punished. Unless they have a particularly alluring sob story, and then I guarantee my eyes will glisten and my lower lip will droop – droop – droop.
Talk show television, that’s what the Widow Quantreau favors. And non-abrasive cooking shows. You know, the helpful as opposed to the competitive kind. That’s what I told the questionnaire anyway. As I looked at myself delightedly in the mirror I almost wished I was going to the sex club. This was a new disguise for sure! Sadist or masochist? Because you better believe it, you’ve gotta be one or the other. Top or bottom; lion or lamb. I take my lamb rare, thank you. Very rare. But they don’t let lions sit on juries, if they can sniff them out in advance. They might enjoy themselves too much, and as we’ve all had dinned into our ears since grade school, it’s not “work” if you enjoy it.
Judge Sugarman made his call; I made sure of that. He owes me. So I probably have a fairly high interview number. Still, he assures me they will have a list of questions already prepared to ask me. (Sometimes designed by an expensive jury consultant.) Under “religious affiliation” I did not put Wiccan, as I sometimes do just to scarify and tease. Nor did I put down my mother’s church, the complex name of which I’m sure I can’t recall correctly. The Church of Christ Crucified and Unforgiving. Something along those lines.
No, I claimed Episcopalian, just like dear old Dr. Quantreau himself, the old atheist. Not that he bothered with a priest when he decided to get hitched. He was in too big a hurry, since I wasn’t prepared to get naked without suitable guarantees. Read: no pre-nup. But that Matterhorn proved amazingly easy to climb! I thought it was going to be the biggest challenge of the campaign. I didn’t know about “ux”. That’s what Latinists call “wife” apparently. He had all the trust documents set up – whoever was married to him at the time would step right in. Easy-peazey.
Dr. Quantreau showed up at church only twice a year, and then only if he thought someone was looking. He spurned what he cynically described the “comforts” of religion for himself, describing them as the province only for “females of both sexes”. Knowing that, I didn’t bother with last rites. There was nothing and nobody to protect him at the end.
Knitting bag in hand, I hurried out to the rental car. What kind of vehicle does the ideal juror drive? I wasn’t taking chances. You never know who you’ll meet in the parking lot. Each time – prosecution and defense – has a universe of hangers-on. Mid-size, mid-expense, nondescript seemed my safest bet. That’s what I ordered and that’s what they brought me. A gray Buick. One yawns at the sight of it.
No gardener today, and if I hurry, no Judge Sugarman, but it’s hard not to pause just long enough to survey my plot with pride. Spring is my season! I feel the blood fermenting in my ripening veins. The carefully hand-scattered daffodils have sprung up beside the stone wall; the weeping cherry trails kimono sleeves across the Buick’s roof. Beneath the thundercloud plum a slate birdbath vaunts a tall metal sculpture of feasting heron and dancing frogs. Frogs dance when they are about to be eaten. It’s an old Cajun joke. I’m Cajun on my stepfather’s side. Didn’t you know that? You acquire the powers of anyone you kill.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see Whitney’s jalopy. Fortunately she’d turned the engine off – she’s always playing the most God-awful, brain jangling music. No wonder kids can’t think if this is the stuff they listen to.
I pulled her card yesterday so I knew she must be lurking. In the Tarot universe she’s the Princess of Wands; a girl-woman whose weapon is the fire wand. Naturally she doesn’t know how to use it; she has yet to come into her power. Fire wands may have their place, but a sword will cut a fire-wand in half. A true Queen will not be burned even by a shower of sparks. The Princess’ only hope is to catch a Sword Queen napping, but…
Aging Dr. Quantreau didn’t do Whitney any favors, making her into his “ideal companion” while he was waiting for me to arrive. A teenage girl who is half seventy-five year old man is most certainly fated to struggle to find her place in the world. She should be out clubbing with her friends, daring the rituals of sex and drunken exaltation.
Instead, she’s hanging around me. I used to think she nourished quite a charming little passion for me; it’s the man-woman in her. Her sisters and I have mastered the language of femininity; but she refuses. My Empress (whose powers I also acquired) also risked mannishness. And look how she ended up.
Yes, I had high hopes of Whitney, before she set herself against me. She is an Archer, just like myself, born under a full moon at the exact time of the Winter Solstice. Mercury and Neptune hung above her cradle. Mercury is the Mind, Neptune the Imagination; it is a fatal double blend. She will over-think all her choices and frequently suffer paralysis between competing options. Her questioning sarcasm might remind me of myself. But I corral and empower my thoughts; spitting out an endlessly empty hostility is a mark of cowardice.
Her father spoiled her rotten. Her sisters – Princesses of Cups (so zodiacally impoverished they must share identity) at least understand that a family trust that pays all education and health expenses is extremely generous. I can feel Whitney wanting more. She is too wily (or fearful) of my power to come right out and claim what she desires, and I have no incentive to make it easy for her. Let her come to me, if she ever thinks she can summon up the power.
I realize I went about befriending her in completely the wrong way. I was unsure of my sway over the doctor –what if he got well before I could get rid of her? Plenty of men recover from stroke. Luckily she opposed me so obviously he took my side. Plus, he yearned to be alone with me. Ah, the naked nights and the drunken days! He should have been suspicious of upselling at his age. But we all are victims of our hopes, are we not? I didn’t have time to break Whitney’s spirit; I had my hands full with her father. Respect once lost can never be regained.
Whitney lacks self-pride. She never seems to care how grungy she looks. She shops at thrift stores. If she’s ever had a boyfriend, I’ve never met him. She insists on remaining a club that even she doesn’t want to join.
The Princess of Wands would be a proud archetype for anyone but Whitney, who refuses to so much as acknowledge its existence. Her fire throne (Fire is Whitney’s element) is guarded by a pair of lions and a single black cat, reminding us of the Egyptian goddess she once was. Her flower is the Sunflower, her star the Sun. In my deck she has long dark hair, just like Whitney. Whitney may come into her own someday; but she’s not going to do it on my dime. With no husband or children, a studio apartment and the merest hint of an excuse for a job, Whitney seems to have plenty of time to gad about; which she uses poorly. Hovering around me. The helicopter stepdaughter is always up for getting into trouble. I’ll never make it easy for her, why should I instruct her in her powers? I zip my lip. Intimacy with her ilk – even the kind obtained through criticism – is to be shunned. I certainly hated her unwelcome appearance on this morning; seeing my disguise. But it could play out to my advantage. “Might could” as my mother used to say. Let’s keep her guessing.
“New car?” She studied my rental curiously. She’s all about the moolah. Let her think it’s mine. “You don’t like it?” I asked airily. Always answer a question with a question; never give out free information. Make them pay for it. What she’s really worried about is my spending of her father’s money. Because she thinks she gets what’s left. That’s if there’s any left! I lean as hard as I can on Trustee Nicholas Rudoff’s investment decisions to keep them out of the “blue chip” category. That is, when I have nothing better to do.
She continued to stare. “It doesn’t seem like you, somehow.”
So now I’m obligated to live up to her fantasies, whatever those might be? I tried not to manifest my annoyance. “I contain legions,” I teased. Somebody famous said that once. Goddess knows what the real quote is.
Whitney’s “job” is selling advertising. Her Mazda Protégé is slapped with stickers. Beats me how a person so deliberately unpleasant can survive on commissions but she says she loves the excuse to be out in the open air. She must rely on her garrulous nature. She loves “chewing the fat.” Today she wore white pants, too early for the season, a brilliantly colored op-art blouse and a short pink suede jacket emphasizing her girth. Why does she insist on wearing belts as if she had a waist? But what can you do? I’d tried and failed. Built for comfort, not for speed, as my stepfather used to say. She fastened her eyes on my knitting bag. “Late for class?”
“That’s it. I’ve got to run.”
Of course I had to lie. If I got on the jury she’d find out eventually. Let her. But while I wove my spell I required a decent darkness.
“Sure is a new look,” she remarked, her eyes sliding about inside the glop she decorates them with. Brunettes don’t need so much makeup. Someone should tell her.
Pointedly I unlocked the Buick door. I seriously doubted I was even the target of this visit. It’s spring, after all. She, too, had probably noticed Brainerd’s Beautiful Assistant. She must have sap – or something – running through her veins.
“I’d offer you coffee but I’ve already set the alarm,” I climbed right into the front seat. Buh-bye! No need to stand on ceremony with family members!
She leaned right in the driver’s window so I found myself staring right into her somewhat bulgy pale blue eyes. She has worn the same makeup ever since high school; black eyeliner, turquoise mascara, rose blush and a sweep of pink lipstick. Just like an American girl doll. Sacrificial offering to the Lost Daddy.
“Wow, do you look different,” she emphasized.
“I’m in disguise,” I hissed conspiratorially. “Charitable works.” Keep her guessing. I tried not to seem too impatient as I pointed to her car blocking my path. She hurried to accommodate me. Do her good to run. She can use the exercise.
I know what Henry Kissinger said about power being an aphrodisiac, but I was caught off guard when Charmian’s and my father’s relationship turned romantic. Surely my elderly parent, who couldn’t button his own shirt, was finished with sex. Who could be attracted to a geezer male with uncertain or explosive plumbing? I guess it’s money, that makes the juices really flow. Lie back and think of Vail, or Cabo.
For a while I had the weird thought that she might be a lesbian. Of all the people in my life she was the most interested in my body. She was always giving me diet advice and begging me to try on clothes. I found her the whole situation distinctly unwholesome. What would she have done if I suddenly lunged at her, grabbing and kissing? We’ll never know. I turned down all gifts, visible and in.
My father and I had always enjoyed eating together. We relished prime rib, mashed potatoes, lasagna, sauerbraten. The one dish I learned to cook was sweet and sour pork. We loved trying new restaurants; it was our “thing”. But Charmian says the way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach, but his eyes.
I recall one diet tip in particular: drink a glass of hot lemon juice and eat an apple before every meal. Guess what? It absolutely works. Totally ruins the meal. Kills your appetite dead. You get to sit there and watch other people eat. But the question she never answered was, why should I want my appetite killed? My father always said the purpose of education is the cultivation of the appetites. If you wear blinders you won’t be distracted. But you also won’t see anything. Like a cart horse. What’s the good of that?
My father used to praise the fact that I was “substantial”, unlike those “modern girls competing to disappear”. Until she got hold of him, convincing him that our diet gave him a stroke and made me “unpopular”.
Everyone was on her side. I was thirteen years old for Chrissake. Plenty of time to be disappointed by men. I’m not convinced becoming a Cultural Icon has all these advantages, anyway. Don’ supermodels end up selling their eggs over the Internet? The prettiest girls in our high school class seem the saddest now, like somehow they got cheated. To me they seem to have less personal freedom, not more. Take my sisters for example, always acknowledged to be pretty, pretty girls. They’re perfectly willing to let Charmian rip them off. They say it was “his” money and there’s nothing we can do. Hells, no. Our mother is spinning in her grave.
Dad made lots of bad decisions, especially when his mind started to go. He expected me to stand up to him. To challenge him. Darby said I was the son he never had. He used to stand at the top of the old Colorado Springs house – it had a turret and he knew I loved that – and say, “Someday all this will be yours.” I know he said it metaphorically. I know he said it humorously. But you simply don’t leave the kingdom to the wicked stepmother. Gag me with a spoon.
What do you give the woman who has everything? It’s a problem. By definition, femininity is yearning for a never-to-arrive completion. Queens, of course, are different. Power is what we yearn for. One thing I’ve learned, if it’s masculine “approval” you’re waiting for; you’ll never get that! Men call us “insatiable” in self- excuse. So what new toy could tempt me?
I hesitated a little as I opened the mailbox. Usually it’s a pleasure to stand in my immaculately groomed garden looking through trust and bank statements, but last week, for the first tie in my life I received an anonymous letter. It was postmarked Colorado Springs, the old neighborhood, but the address had been made by label and the return address was “Suite 7, Flatirons Office Park”. So even though the envelope said “Hallmark” I opened it with a distinct lack of excitement. Almost certain to be begging disguised as an invitation. Strangely enough, it was both.
Inside were cut out letters assembled to form the words:
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
A chill ran through me and I looked up hastily, but as far as one can see through woods and leaves, I was alone. Things that seem very unpleasant at first conceal hidden delights; there’s a life lesson for you. Emotions first repelled as shocks to the system can even become addictive. So I thought hard about it. In fact, I had been thinking about it all week.
A new game. I used to love games. A hazard of wealth is a lack of surprises, since you control everything. I usually visit the sex club as a corrective. Plenty of surprises there. Here’s a game with a new disguised player. Someone jealous, obviously. Someone who feared coming out from behind the mask; someone who hoped to upset me from a distance.
I’ve done some terrible things in my life, that’s for certain. A Queenship that’s routinely handed over isn’t worth having. On the other hand, it’s literally impossible for anyone to know what those were. So here’s a person – a disguised person, a gameplayer – trying to manipulate me into acting in some way I wouldn’t have acted without this incitement. Now what could that be?
Criminal psychology says it’s a woman, an older woman (what junior would ever choose this mode of communication?) but it might be a man. A man-woman. I know plenty of those. That’s the reason that I put my hand slowly into the mailbox as if a second coachwhip waited in the dark to pounce. But no Colorado Springs Hallmark card. Instead, a summons to jury duty!
What could be more intriguingly amusing than a power of life or death? In Colorado, death sentences are decided by the jury. My whole life has been about deciding when to cut the cord. I might have to share it with eleven others, but most people are easily manipulateable, and our jury system is such that one holdout is all it takes to derail a prosecution.
KDVR has been screaming at me for weeks about the Sivarro-Haymaker case. Did pretty Karen Sivarro, dragged back from Europe in chains, really ask her boyfriend to hire a hitman? Is she as responsible as said hitman or perhaps even more so? The murder of Rafe Zanelli – we had all seen pictures of his bullet-ridden body sprawled in the roadway – wouldn’t have occurred without her, that’s for certain.
I became aware of someone creeping up behind me. It could only be my neighbor, Judge Sugarman, who has lately been stalking me. I steeled myself to face him with a smile. The Judge came lumbering at me with such speed he must have been spying from his kitchen window with binoculars. Judge Sugarman has a sort of a wife – what is left of her. She’s already been outsourced to a nursing home so he is frantically shopping for a replacement. He has a fine pool to select from – literally vans of women arrive carrying electric brooms and casseroles and baskets of flowers — but in the most ancient tradition of romance, he doesn’t want anyone who wants him.
He wants me. His only love affair at present is with the internal combustion engine, so a racket of clippers or weed whacking usually precedes him as he angles towards the privet separating our lawns. I tried not to gag at the love light in his eyes. After all, this summons I held in my hand could give him an opportunity to be useful. Quid pro quo makes the world go round, as my dear, late, late husband used to say.
I could have told him that being alone these days is no reason to go without sex. As a local potentate he probably knows about the sex club. I see plenty like him on my nights there – suited up and eager for excitement. But they don’t last. They soon discover that anonymity removes their sole attraction. Suddenly they experience the kind of catastrophic fall in status it used to be their professional obligation to inflict on the rest of us. They find themselves subject to a new order – the rule of beauty. If they expect to dance, they had better bring a partner. Judge Sugarman has big shoes that need filling.
He is looking to purchase, not rent. His clothes say Nieman Marcus but his jowls say prenup. Someone patient with him in bed, supportive at public events, self-effacing at parties and ready to memorize the birthdays and anniversaries of children and grandchildren. Been there, done that. This man doesn’t need a beginner, he needs an immigrant. Off the boat, or under the fence. An indentured servant with a huge bill hanging over her head. He had better look elsewhere. Now I please only myself.
I made a magnanimous effort to pretend I’m not automatically repulsed by wandering nasal hair and a gym-free torso – Goddess knows I’ve had worse. His needs and my needs do not match up. Yet he possessed a small capability to be of service. The judge took my hand and as I touched his Mount of Venus I could read that he is an ungenerous lover. Failure to achieve paradise is your own damn fault. I relinquished his hand by the simple stratagem of spewing my mail at his feet. He half bent – half knelt – to pick it up, allowing my eyes to stray to a more delectable sight – the arrival of Brainerd’s assistant.
Brainerd is my gardener, and there is nothing attractive about him. He is slowly becoming skeletally thin – Paris Hilton would be jealous – but on him it’s not attractive and suggests some terminal condition unresponsive to modern meds. Lately he has started bringing an assistant – his heir, one supposes – who is as radiant as sunrise. I don’t know his name, but I have stood at my bathroom window many times watching the muscles slide around under his tattoos. He’s probably gay, but I can play male. One has the obligation to explore all appetites, creating new ones as necessary.
Only the dead don’t hunger. Nostalgie de la boue, as my late husband used to say. We all suffer from an atavistic longing for the primeval mud. I admit, I’ve even been tempted to slide a guest card to the sex club underneath the bent windshield wipers of the ramshackle steamship he uses for transportation, but frankly, I’m too lazy.
Brainerd’s assistant acknowledged my presence shyly and began unloading a collection of rakes and sprays. I favored him with a luxurious smile while Judge Sugarman staggered red-faced to his feet. “You certainly get a lot of catalogs,” he puffed.
I dazzled him with a leftover lip-pleat. “Oh, you know how it is,” I told him, “So much money, so little time. Why should my stepdaughters get spoiled? We must prevent the heirs from plundering the estate.” He laughed gamely. He loves it when I flirt with him, but I like to go beyond flirtation into actual discomfort. Because it’s fun.
“Here’s my latest acquisition,” I said, dangling the jury notice in front of his yellow-orbed irises. “The Sivarro-Haymaker case is the one I want.”
“That’s the one everybody wants,” he said, and I saw his mind struggling with the realization that I was asking for something in his power to grant.
He backpedalled. “They usually divide the pool randomly between civil and criminal.” I pouted. “I don’t want to waste my time on a civil case.”
Still, he hesitated. “I could make a call but…even if you had a very high number and were interviewed late the prosecution might use a strike against you.”
“Why the prosecution?” I was annoyed. Dr. Quantreau’s widow was a celebrant of the status quo, why should anyone assume I automatically identify with the accused? I have personal reason to know, where there’s smoke there’s usually a smoldering ember someplace. I felt insulted by the ugly film muddying his eyes. I could hear what he was thinking – yes, I read minds when it’s worth my while. Isn’t he thinking the trophy second wife is just the kind of predatory adventuress poor Karen Sivarro is accused of being? Yet it’s a damned poor adventuress who ends up on a murder rap. They had to drag her back from England in chains.
Cut to the chase. “So who’s their ideal juror?” No false pride here. I can play anything. Pick his brains since that’s what he’s here for.
“The different sides want different things. They’ll give you a questionnaire. The trick is to appeal to both of them.”
“And how would I do that?”
“You’re uninterested in gossip. Never read “bad” news or watch frightening television. No relatives in prison or law enforcement. No crime victims in the family tree.” He leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “Easily swayed.”
I laughed out loud. “Why that old thing!” I exclaimed in my best Southern accent. “I can fake that twice a day!”
I rapped him on the shoulder with my invisible fan. “Don’t forget to make that phone call! I’m counting on you now!” And then I was sprinting for the house, leaving him standing there as if he had forgotten why he had come, as, given his advanced age, quite possibly he had. Bastard! He owed me that phone call! The more I thought about it, the more it seemed likely that he himself was my anonymous correspondent. It was just the kind of thing an elderly law-saturated geezer would get up to.
He’d probably had plenty of cases like this, when he was on the bench. Why should a beautiful, rich young woman with all of life as her plaything have anything to do with the likes of him, unless she required his counsel, expertise, and a professional shoulder to lean on? It certainly would explain why he hovered for the “trigger” of me at my mailbox. Men are so transparent.
I always knew she murdered my father. Does evil have a smell? Only eleven percent of people can detect the odor of cyanide. Almonds. But I am one of the eleven percent. I guess I have a nose for evil. Something about Charmian twitched my nostrils from the beginning. Charmian! That name is fake like everything else about her – nails, hair, eyes, breasts; fake, fake, fake. And my poor idiot father, who raised me to know quality and to seek it out, to insist on value, to treasure worth and reward effort – said he didn’t give a damn about Charmian’s past – who or where she had been.
Didn’t care that she was forty years younger! Or was it what was left of his dick that didn’t care? My older sisters were much more pragmatic about his dick of clay. They had husbands, children, they were grown and gone. Out of the house. In fact they said all men had clay dicks. McKenzie says every man’s ideal woman is a Vegas stripper. Darby says hookers work hard and earn their money just like everyone else. McKenzie says old men are a lot of work, and Darby says Dad treated Mom like crap and karma is a bitch.
I don’t remember. I was still little when she died. I took his side, always. He was the fun parent, giver of candy and prizes. He pointed out to me how logical he was and how stupid she was; why should I ever join her team? Dad and I read hero books; Beowulf, the Iliad, Genji, Gilgamesh. He encouraged the highest aspirations. I was the son he never had and didn’t need, because he had me. Then came the stroke. He needed help. No biggie, basic assistance. He didn’t want to help from me; he said I had my own life to live. I should have worried more when he hired Charmian. She was totally unqualified.
She was dangerous. Anyone could see. Every layer I’ve peeled back is perfidious and I don’t think I’ve hit bottom yet. I learned it from you, dad. You were so demanding, such a skeptic. My father was a doctor, a teacher, a diagnostician. Whenever I say my last name everyone asks, any relation to Dr. Quantreau? His whole ethos was to look beneath the surface – never settle for the obvious – take full note of signs and portents. Intelligent people have the obligation to educate themselves until they understand what they’re up against.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m going t catch her and expose her. After they married he kicked me out of the house – she kicked me out – and he had no protections. I thought I had more time. When nobody was looking she finished him off.
I didn’t tell my sisters. I should have seen it coming. felt too guilty. So it’s up to me to do the dirty work. But is it really “dirty work” when it concerns someone you love? Dad, the raging unbeliever who taught me how to make the most of every second we are given, was tricked into lapsing gently into the dark night. How could you have disappeared so completely from the lovely earth you taught me how to savor? Exactly as if you had never been here at all.
Duel between a stepmother and stepdaughter turns deadly.
Charmian: Chapter I – The Knight of Swords
My mother was bitten by a coachwhip while carrying me; that’s how I got my second sight. My stepfather, not a witness to the event but someone who always had the be the smartest person in any room he was in and the greatest living authority on everything, said it wasn’t a coachwhip but a blue runner and it never would have killed her anyhow. It wasn’t until I left home that I discovered they’re the same snake. So that argument, like most they had, was entirely pointless.
She would have killed me deader than any snakebite but she was too fat to even realize she was pregnant. So that was the first lucky thing in my lifetime string of magical good fortune, the second being that I didn’t drown in the toilet. Let’s say my “home birth” was quite a surprise.
To those blessed with second sight time is circular. There I was: an old soul born to pawns of fate just up from rats. When they come back it will be as cockroaches. I was seventeen when I came into my royal nature as Queen of Swords. The Queen ‘s blood is power, intuition is her oxygen, action is her throne. I am the only one who recognizes truth. My sword cauterizes like a laser. You might as well submit; you’ll feel better after. All living creatures, whether they know it or not, draw breath in fealty. I grant consciousness and unconsciousness; just as I choose.
This morning, I pulled a card, as is my daily custom. And there you were, my Knight of Swords, leaning down from your horse to penetrate a dragon’s proffered belly. I must have need of you because when I summoned; you came. My late husband used to say, “When the servant is ready, the master will appear.” He thought he knew who was the servant and who the master — a dangerous assumption to make when I’m around.
In my beautiful Doré deck this Knight is teen-mag handsome, with a carved-marble face, blocky jaw and a panther’s square nose. Luxuriant blonde hair, rippling into curls, is tied back for battle. His quiver contains a multitude of arrows unlike the poorly-equipped King of Swords. A “suicide king”; his blade is turned against himself.
This knight is also slightly cross-eyed, like a Siamese cat. Does it mean that, like me, you see forward and back? I almost feel I’m looking at an echo of my double-eyed face – one eye green and one eye blue. He is ready to launch himself on his heroic quest; but one eye still looks behind him.
There’s fate for you. Even when you don’t believe in it, it believes in you. Let this card inaugurate my new life. I have been feeling something missing. My ideal lover is out there waiting for me to find him. In a way, I feel I have invented you. Or perhaps you, lonely as only gods are lonely, have invented me. I rose up out of one of your nocturnal emissions in my most seductive guise. Blonde (of course), full-breasted (of course), boy-hipped, five feet eleven in stilettos. Come and get me. Since I can recall eternity I must have always been here. We are primal elements: archetypes. We are fated to meet maskless. History itself evolves to smooth my path. I will teach you mastery of the future. I inserted your card in a gilt display box and left exposed it to the consideration of the universe on my mother-of-pearl dressing table.
I live surrounded by beautiful objects, such as this suede book in which I write with my ivory pen. I too lived my early life as a beautiful object, much sought after by collectors. Beauty is my birthright, but conquest has leaves me lonely. Until now.
(SCENE 8. Lights up on our sleeping couple. BO and VAYRE emerge from the other side of the stage.)
BO There they are! (HEDJ sits up but does not rise)
HEDJ Finally!
BO Yeah, I see how hard you were looking for us!
HEDJ Buddy, I got swept away by a RIVER of SLIME! What’s your excuse?
REV (Opening her eyes sleepily)
I can’t believe dream telepathy actually works!
(Noting the rope)
How come you two are all tied up?
BO So we wouldn’t get separated!
(Strikes his forehead)
Boom! You’re welcome!
REV Wow! How romantic!
HEDJ Seriously we DREAMED you into finding us. Boom!
(Strikes his forehead)
You’re welcome!
(The two men square off)
BO While you were DREAMING we were searching! Guess which takes more effort?
HEDJ
It’s work SMARTER, not HARDER!
VAYRE Well, WE fell into a pile of bat carcasses!
BO I rescued her!
REV Disgusting? Or romantic? Why are those two so often the same?
VAYRE What got you so sleepy all of a sudden?
REV Rescuing HIS sorry ass from the river of slime!
HEDJ (Jovially)
I lost everything!
(REV & HEDJ hug)
BO Way to go!
(He & HEDJ high five while the girls roll their eyes)
VAYRE
We’ll never get out of now. We just keep getting deeper. It’s hopeless.
(This makes HEDJ scramble to his feet)
HEDJ I bet you weren’t even searching for us! You were just trying to get out. Some friend you are. What happened to the Bro Code?
BO Think I should have jumped in for a swim, like you did? I had a beautiful girl to look after!
REV Wow. This guy’s special!
VAYRE
Isn’t he? He’s a keeper!
HEDJ LUCKILY my brain is more powerful than yours!
(The men look like they might fight.)
VAYRE Guys, stop it. Everyone found everyone and now we have to find a way out. Four brains are better than one.
HEDJ We could look for a shortcut.
BO
And BACK to the stupid ideas!
VAYRE
This better not be another digging scenario.
HEDJ
No, smart thinking, not hard thinking.
(Taps his forehead)
We need to look for a wormhole.
BO
You are kidding me!
REV
No, seriously, listen to him! He brought you here by MENTAL TELEPATHY! I didn’t think it would work either!
VAYRE
Like a wormhole with WORMS?
HEDJ
No. Quantum tunneling!
REV
Quantum tunneling? Is that a thing?
VAYRE
Like an energy path to another dimension.
BO
Science fiction!
REV
But I liked the old dimension!
VAYRE
Did you? Did you REALLY?
VAYRE
(Holding BO’s hand) Until I had Bo.
REV
Nobody ever “has” ANYBODY!
(HEDJ holds up REV’s hand)
HEDJ
But you and I have each other! So, see? We’re in another dimension already!
BO
Any way out is a way out that WORKS is all right with me. The proof is in the pizza.
VAYRE
Tacos.
BO
Whatever.
REV How do you find a wormhole? How do you even recognize one?
HEDJ They’re reflective, like one of those mirrored balls. It’s a curve.
BO Oh, for Christ’s sake!
REV It sounds CRAZY!
HEDJ Hey, I studied physics! I’m not making this stuff up – some guy at Caltech discovered it. What’s the point of a million dollar education if you never use what you learn?
VAYRE It just sounds so impossible.
BO If they exist, how come I’ve never seen one?
REV How do you know you haven’t? You probably thought it was a garden ball!
HEDJ They can’t exist where people congregate, otherwise it would already have been discovered. You have to look for a wormhole where no one has ever been. This is the perfect place!
REV So what are we supposed to do when we see one?
HEDJ Jump in!
BO Says the man who JUMPED into a RIVER of SLIME!
REV But wouldn’t we be like – destroyed? Blasted apart?
HEDJ No. The curved, reflecting properties keep the energy stable. You wouldn’t want a wormhole that DOESN’T look like a garden ball.
VAYRE But where do they go?
HEDJ Anywhere. Forward, the past, different worlds – who knows?
REV But if they are stable theoretically that means we COULD return. I mean, if we wanted to.
HEDJ Sure. Why not?
BO That’s if we WANTED to.
VAYRE We could return prepared! Like with better equipment! I don’t know about you but I’ve never been prepared. For anything.
REV Equipment would be nice. ANY equipment would be nice.
VAYRE I don’t want to go back into the past before fake nails or dishwashers.
REV Or birth control or dentists.
BO Don’t worry about that. Time travel CAN’T happen!
HEDJ And why’s that?
BO Because of the grandmother paradox! Because you’d mess up your own birth, that’s why!
REV (Separating them)
Let’s agree that nothing that CAN’T happen will happen! OK? You’re officially arguing about NOTHING.
HEDJ Guess I’m a born lawyer, too!
VAYRE
(Shining her light upwards)
If it would reflect a face, wouldn’t it reflect light?
BO I guess it would have to.
REV But how can we see everywhere?
HEDJ We can see everywhere because there are four of us! It’s like the magic number!
VAYRE Got it!
(They link arms backwards, leaning out)
HEDJ Rev, shine your light up there.
REV I think I see something.
VAYRE But it’s too far up.
HEDJ We’ll have to investigate. Rev’s good with a lasso.
REV Thanks but there’s nothing up there to hold onto.
BO We could climb if we all work together.
VAYRE Let’s make a pyramid!
(They mimic climbing, building a series of yearning, reaching pyramids with each getting a chance for the top and seeming to haul the next up after)
BO Hold my hand!
VAYRE I think I see something!
HEDJ Grab on!
REV Here we go!
BO Oh, my God what’s that?
(Breathing heavily they drop to their knees in a tight knot looking out at the audience. Lights in the theatre suddenly go up and the four gasp with astonishment, vault joyously to their feet)
(SCENE 7: Lights out on them and up on BO who has made it to the stage where he finds the rope tied to a rock.)
BO Vayre? Vayre? Oh, my God, Wendy where are you?
(He falls backwards. She appears around the rock adjusting her pants.)
VAYRE No need to shriek like a little girl.
BO You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought I was alone down here! What’s with this?
(Shakes the rope)
This wasn’t part of our deal!
VAYRE Keep your shirt on! I had to take a pee!
BO You can pee with a rope tied to your waist!
VAYRE Who elected you the God of pee?
BO And I was risking my life FOR YOU among the bat carcasses!
VAYRE I warned you never to say that word!
(BO produces the program and hands it to her.)
BO (Starts untying the rope from the rock) I fulfilled MY part of our bargain. Now you put this right back on!
VAYRE What for? We’re standing six inches apart!
BO So we NEVER get separated again! Don’t you see, it’s a miracle you found your way back! Down here that’s no joke! We’re DEAD if we don’t get out together.
VAYRE I was right over there! I wasn’t getting lost. No one sets out to get lost. Hmmm. Let me guess: you’re the child of divorce.
BO Who isn’t? I thought all marriages immediately expired after fifteen years.
VAYRE Seven years in MY parents’ case. But mine isn’t going to.
BO But how can you stop it? Seems everyone just goes crazy after a set period of time. We have different set points is all.
VAYRE But can’t a couple like, evolve together?
BO (Finding this sexy) Into what…a new species?
VAYRE (Ditching the program)
This isn’t it! You’ve lost my map! Now we have to operate on theory alone.
BO Sounds dangerous. Which theory are you using?
VAYRE
Unified field? If we’re acting like waves and they’re acting like particles then –
BO
I operate on Meeny-Miny-Mo theory. YOU lost it. So it’s your turn to go search.
(Begins tying the rope to her waist)
If I tug three times…
VAYRE (Gulping) You know I can’t do that! What about the bat carcasses?
BO Then we’ll go together. We’ll trust our instincts. We’ll…evolve.
(He passes a loop of rope around her drawing her closer to him.)
VAYRE You now, it’s funny. I’m not scared when you’re here.
BO (Looking down realizes they are securely bound together)
Then I suggest we make camp.
VAYRE Make camp! With a half bottle of Gatorade and a power bar?
BO Sure! Wait for THEM to find US.
(She throws a loop of rope around him)
VAYRE Help, help.
(Not like she means it.)
How long do we wait?
BO As long as it takes, Wendy Vayre.
(They are securely bound hip to hip. Tentative kisses.)
VAYRE Let’s hope it takes forever, Darcy.
(More kisses)
I’m a little concerned about your friend.
BO MY friend? Not your friend?
VAYRE If Rev finds your friend she’s probably strangling him right now.
BO Why? Is she a mean girl?
VAYRE She’s mad at you guys over this whole caving thing. She doesn’t like that many people and she’d HATE you.
(Throws her arms around his neck.)
BO What’s so hate-worthy about me?
VAYRE That this bad, bad date was your idea.
BO I’m a bad date, am I?
(They start kissing passionately.)
VAYRE You have your good side. But seriously! This is the worst!
BO Worst place you’ve ever hooked up? Seriously?
VAYRE Who says we’re hooking up?
BO Right. No hookups. We’re…evolving. That’s how I interpret it.
VAYRE Interpretations aren’t reality. What if we never see each other again?
BO Fat chance of that when we’re entangled!
VAYRE Listen buddy, I can imagine the future.
BO Well, stop it. People get into a lot of trouble over that. You’re a prophet now?
VAYRE Yeah. And I’m usually right.
BO I’m ready to be surprised.
(Thinks)
Unless you decide you never want to see me again.
VAYRE That depends.
BO It DEPENDS? On what? On how we evolve?
VAYRE On how good you are at getting us out of here. I mean, are you just a handsome dolt, or what?
BO
(Very gratified) You think I’m handsome?
VAYRE
(Running her hands up and down his arms)
I think you’re very good looking.
BO
You should have seen me in high school! I had a serious case of pizza face.
VAYRE
Everyone’s hopeless in high school. I was flat as a board.
BO
You? Flat?
(He tests it out) VAYRE As a BOARD.
(More kissing)
I warn you, my standards are high. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.
BO
You can afford to have high standards. But you’re lucky with me. I’m a finisher.
VAYRE
You are?
BO
Big time. You know I‘m the first in my family to go to this college?
VAYRE
I’m impressed.
BO
That’s why I’m determined to be a doctor. Unless they kick me out first.
VAYRE
They wouldn’t do that.
BO
Grades, money. They’re always on my case.
VAYRE
Why’s that?
BO
I do finally get there but…I’m slow.
VAYRE
That’s not a bad thing. I like a guy who paces himself. You don’t know how to talk to them, probably. Bureaucratese is a who separate language.
BO
Ain’t that the truth! The dean keeps sending me these emails and –
VAYRE
You ignore them, am I right?
BO
I can never make up my mind what they want me to say.
VAYRE
I’ll tell you what to say. When they pull that on you, go plant yourself in his office, shake the emails at them and demand, “How is this happening?”
BO
I can’t see me doing that. I get tongue tied. I can see YOU doing it. I can see you winning at it, too!
VAYRE
You don’t win UNLESS you do it.
BO
Yeah, well I’m not a pretty girl. Pretty girls get whatever they want.
VAYRE
You think I’m pretty? My Mom says my nose is too big.
BO
She’s jealous. Tell her she can’t talk to you like that.
VAYRE
I can’t see ME telling her that, but I can see you doing it! And getting away with it!
BO
I’d tell her in a heartbeat.
VAYRE
Here’s an idea: you go with me to Thanksgiving and I’ll go with you to the dean’s office. Deal?
BO
Deal and done!
VAYRE
That’s if we ever get out of here.
BO
Oh, we’re getting out of here! We’ll get out here if I have to dig a path to the surface!
VAYRE
My lucky day when I found you!!
BO
(Unwrapping rope)
Let’s start now!
VAYRE
But what about our friends? We have to find them!
BO
Maybe they’re already out of here. Why should we rescue them if they wouldn’t rescue us!
VAYRE
We would have seen them!
BO
Maybe they don’t want to be interrupted.
VAYRE
Believe me, my friend wants to be “interrupted”.
BO
Is your friend a good wrestler?
VAYRE
What do you want to know THAT for?
BO
Because Hedj is not as strong as he looks. I can take him. His only advantage is surprise.
VAYRE
Rev is a champion kickboxer. She’s never surprised. She always expects THE WORST.
(She feels his muscles appreciatively)
BO
Then she’ll be fine. Seriously, it’s time to get out of here. It’s all you can eat taco night.
VAYRE
Crispy or soft?
BO
Crispy all the way. Those things are like giant Doritos.
VAYRE
Let’s agree to disagree. We’re finding our friends.
(They try to step apart but…)
VAYRE
Guess you’ll have to untie me.
BO
I might loosen your bonds a little.
VAYRE
Just a little.
(Another passionate makeout session)
BO
Now my brain’s in a tailspin.
VAYRE
What’s back that way?
BO
The world?
VAYRE
All you can eat tacos.
BO
Civilization! And back that way?
VAYRE
Cold, dark emptiness.
BO
We’ve been wrong before.
VAYRE
But if we can’t trust our instincts, what have we got?
BO
Cold dark you-know-what. Let’s go!
SCENE 5: Bo Tries to reach over an audience member – pulls 3 times on his rope – whose end disappears into darkness.)
BO (To audience member) Work with me here. You got anything? I have to take her SOMETHING.
(Audience members confer. The hand him a program. Putting it in his mouth like a dog BO gets down on hands and knees and starts to crawl back. Darkness on him, lights up on HEDJ & REV.)
SCENE 6: HEDJ & REV are lying on their backs, clothing disarranged, staring up at the ceiling panting. Long pause. )
REV Oh, my God that was fantastic. I’m still feeling it.
HEDJ So…do you believe in God?
REV I most definitely do not.
HEDJ You talk a lot about God for a person who doesn’t believe in God.
REV God! I do not! I believe in karma though. This whole thing started out as incredibly bad karma.
HEDJ You believe in karma?
REV The way I see it, you HAVE to. What goes around comes around. It all started when I nicknamed Muffy McGuire “Muffintop”. She’s been a monster ever since.
HEDJ So everything’s YOUR fault?
REV Only my part of it! You’ve got your own karma, buster.
HEDJ There was that white light, though. I definitely saw it.
REV Dude, that was just your brain cells bubbling in a mix of boiling adrenalin and your own fat.
HEDJ Mrs. Cryder, though. I remembered her name! What the heck was she doing there?
REV Random. Purely random.
HEDJ She was always telling me I wasn’t living up to my fullest potential.
REV
See? It’s like some Freudian thing.
HEDJ I feel like it meant something I should figure out but I still can’t. She was always talking about “The Third Solution.”
REV
The third solution or the Final Solution?
HEDJ
The third solution – the one that isn’t there. You do believe in mental telepathy, I’m assuming?
REV Mental telepathy?
HEDJ Yeah. You know, seeing stuff before it’s going to happen and –
REV That’s not mental telepathy, that’s precognition.
HEDJ Whatever. If it got put in your head from someone else’s head it’s telepathy. Hasn’t that happened to you? Looking at someone and knowing what he’s thinking? Having the exact same idea at the exact same time?
REV But the timing is illusory. People hear an idea, it sounds familiar and they think that means they had it too. They hear a song on the radio that the know and they tell everyone, “I was just thinking of that!” It was just in their head – with a whole lot of other stuff nobody mentioned.
HEDJ You’ve led a deprived existence. Don’t tell me you and some buddy have never guessed each other’s thoughts! Like you’re sharing a brain.
REV You and your buddies ARE sharing a brain! And you should get a new one!
HEDJ Come on, work with me here! You’re already busted – you’re not as hostile as you pretend! All I’m saying is we could send a message – both of us at the same time – to Bo and – your friend – to find us.
REV
Good idea.
HEDJ Good idea?
REV Frankly I’m too exhausted for anything else.
HEDJ So you’ll try it? If I show up you’ll admit I’m right?
REV They COULD just be tracking our electric heat signatures.
HEDJ (Sitting up)
That is total bullshit! You are SO argumentative!
REV (She sits up too) A natural lawyer, though, right? That’s what my Dad says.
HEDJ Well I’m too proud to use circular logic.
REV That was NOT circular logic!
HEDJ Now you’re just disrupting our unity. We need to send a unified signal – WHATEVER it is.
REV OK , Boss.
(She settles back.)
It was your idea. You can own this one. Tell me what to do.
HEDJ Stop turning me on!
REV
I wasn’t turning you on! Your disturbed leadership style wouldn’t turn anybody on!
HEDJ
Then why are YOU turned on?
REV
Leave me and my poor starved body out of this.
HEDJ
Maybe you can’t help it. We have to lean restraint.
(Enormous visible effort) OK, picture those two in your mind. Wandering, lost, pathetic. Thirsty. Depressed. Probably starving. Got it?
REV (Eyes closed) Fighting, I bet.
HEDJ Hold that picture. Then think, COME, COME, COME.
REV
YOU’RE trying to turn ME on!
HEDJ
I totally was not! It just got away from me!
REV No way am I thinking anything as stupid as “come, come”! What is this, some cheesy vampire flick?
HEDJ Then what’s YOUR suggestion?
REV How about “Find us. We’re here.”
HEDJ That’s good. Very Occam’s Razor.
REV Thank you.
HEDJ Simple, so I like it better. Don’t you dare say what you’re thinking!
REV You’re reading MY mind now?
HEDJ You were going to say I am simple. Well, I am and I’m not ashamed of it!
REV Wow! You totally CAN read minds!
HEDJ Stop turning me on!
REV Stop putting words in my mouth!
HEDJ (He crosses his legs desperately)
Stop putting thoughts in my head!
REV Your HEAD is not your problem. We have to focus on the job at hand.
HEDJ (Rocking) Focus, focus. OK, then. Ready?
REV God, what if I just fall asleep? I’m SO exhausted. I don’t think I’ve slept in MONTHS.
HEDJ That’s even better. It’s more powerful if we DREAM them into finding us!
REV You are one interesting guy! You believe in the power of dreams? I dream in 4D!
HEDJ Doesn’t everybody? God! How do people study if they can’t dream?
REV
Nobody studies by sleeping!
HEDJ
Well, you SHOULD or you’ll never learn anything. If knowledge doesn’t penetrate the subliminal level –
REV
It isn’t knowledge. Roger, Dodger.
HEDJ
Just tell yourself you’re going to DREAM about them finding us.
SCENE 4: (Lights down on this couple and up on Back of Stage where HEDJ is splashing in a stream)
HEDJ Help! Help! Help!
(REV appears, tries to lasso him)
REV Stop struggling!
HEDJ Stop struggling and DROWN? That’s all you’ve got to say?
REV
Lift up your arms!
(Finally gets the rope over him, hauls him out. He is soaking wet.)
HEDJ (Moaning) God, God, Oh God. I saw the white light.
REV That white light was ME rescuing your ass.
(Touches her miner’s light)
HEDJ No, this was different. I SAW people.
REV Dead people?
HEDJ My third grade teacher – dead or alive – I couldn’t say.
REV That’s a weird person to see!
HEDJ Isn’t it?
(He starts to undress)
That current is killer – you wouldn’t think to look at it but I’m warning you, it’s like its TRYING to drown you.
REV (Flabbergasted)
Don’t you dare strip! Why do men want to show everyone their equipment?
HEDJ We like comparing equipment. Seriously, though, I can’t wear these disgusting slimy clothes one more second.
(Strips down to his boxers)
My button-fly’s are decent.
(Throws the clothes a distance)
Don’t touch those. Bo would say they’re full of invisible leech babies!
REV You are disgusting. I don’ t want to touch you or your disgusting slimy clothes. Do you have leeches on you?
HEDJ
(He peers down the front of his pants)
Shine your light down here.
REV I will not!
HEDJ
Then no.
(Snaps his elastic band with a satisfying “thwap”)
REV
Cover yourself up.
(She hands him her hoodie, which he dons. Its flower print looks utterly fem – plus it’s child-sized – and doesn’t meet in front)
HEDJ Thanks. I lost everything, including my watch! It was a good watch. Graduation gift.
REV You haven’t graduated yet!
HEDJ From high school! It had three time zones and a calculator.
REV Nothing works down here.
HEDJ Lucky we have an inborn time and distance sense located right behind our eyeballs.
REV Where’d you get that idea?
HEDJ I read my assignments. Unlike some people.
REV Well I read about it too and what I read is, if you don’t use it you lose it.
HEDJ How do you know I haven’t been using mine?
REV Because you FELL into an underground STREAM.
HEDJ It was dark! I got sucked in and swept off my feet!
REV We haven’t been down here long enough to get lost.
HEDJ How can you be sure? Prisoners totally lose track of time. They did this experiment where –
REV I know that one. They made some poor guy think fifteen hours was a twenty-four hour day.
HEDJ It wasn’t fifteen hours.
REV
Approximately.
HEDJ You think you know everything, don’t you?
REV I obviously didn’t know enough to stay out of this freakin’ cave.
HEDJ Maybe we’ve been down here for days.
REV We have NOT been down here for days! You can tell that! How many times have you gone to the bathroom, for example?
HEDJ God knows.
REV Yuck! Do men pee constantly without even knowing it?
HEDJ (Very interested)
You mean like bats?
REV Is that what bats do? Omigod. Let’s agree not to use the “b” word. My partner gets very upset.
HEDJ So you ARE gay.
REV God! What is it with frat boys! We are NOT GAY. ALL SORORITY GIRLS ARE NOT GAY.
HEDJ How do you know until you try? Seriously.
REV Well are YOU gay? WE thought you were.
HEDJ Would we be DOWN here risking all this danger if we were gay?
REV Don’t you realize that’s offensive?
HEDJ It’s OK be gay! I love gay people! Seriously, you should check it out. I would if I were you.
REV You’re making me want my hoodie back.
(He makes a move to disrobe, she stops him)
REV Forget it. Are you like a nudist or something?
HEDJ
I could be.
REV
Never mind. Let’s just get out of here.
HEDJ
Don’t we have to find the other two?
REV
I wasn’t suggesting abandoning them! Vayre! She was right here a minute ago.
HEDJ Bo! Buddy! Come back!
REV
THAT was half-hearted.
HEDJ
Well he’s upstream like a mile.
REV
(Very dejected)
Don’t say that! We’ll find them!
HEDJ This cave is bigger than we thought. It’s DAMN big.
REV It’s huge!
HEDJ It’s got a river!
REV That river is making this cave bigger!
(They both shout for their friends with an edge of panic)
HEDJ BO!
REV VAYRE!
HEDJ I don’t think sound travels well down here.
REV So that means they STILL could be close.
HEDJ (Checking out his forearm)
I was making a map on my arm with a Sharpie –
(Checks it)
Gone!
REV Wow! You couldn’t think to use a permanent marker? Lucky I’ve been making a map, and it’s right here.
(Takes a piece of paper out of her breast pocket – it disintegrates in her hands)
Oh my God!
HEDJ Who gives themselves a temporary tattoo with a permanent marker? You’d have me covered with random girls’ phone numbers.
(Snatching at the pieces)
Not like YOU’RE doing such a good job! It’s illegible!
REV This is your fault! I got SOAKED saving YOUR sorry ass!
HEDJ Hey, I’m sorry, but obviously you made the right decision.
REV What are you talking about? That map was WAY more important than some layer tattooed in random girls’ phone numbers!
HEDJ Hey!. I’m dyslexic! Its very easy for me to transpose numbers. But that hasn’t held me back ONE BIT because I’ve got Strategy.
REV You’ve got Strategy, have you? Ok, let’s see some.
HEDJ Well, for one thing there’s two of us figuring out how to get out of here. Right away that doubles our chances. When we find the others, it DOUBLES AGAIN. Particles in a bound state have more energy.
REV I’m not getting into a bound state with you! So where’s this other guy?
HEDJ We split up so we could cover more ground. He absolutely hated the idea.
(Shouts)
Bo! You were right! I’m sorry.
(They listen to the echo)
REV Maybe they found the way out.
HEDJ Bo wouldn’t do that.
REV Even if they tried looking for us and stepped out into daylight instead, do you think they’d turn around and rush back in?
HEDJ
At least they’d get help!
REV
I can hear them at the police station now. “How long have your friends been gone?” They don’t do anything for like seventy-two hours.
HEDJ This water must pour out somewhere. Maybe we should follow it?
REV To really follow it, we’d have to get into it.
HEDJ
Water talk is making me thirsty. Got any?
REV I don’t know if I want your parasitic slimy lips all over my water bottle!
HEDJ Just squirt it in my mouth!
(Gets down to beg with mouth open like a baby bird. REV takes out her water bottle)
HEDJ Well, if that’s all you’ve got you might as well just give it to me!
REV Hey! This is all we’ve got for the two of us!
HEDJ One squirt!
(She squirts some water at his mouth – it gets on his face)
Girls! Your aim is horrible! I’m like a foot away!
REV You keep moving your face! Just take it already!
(She gives him the water bottle, turns away to think)
We can only go forwards by going backwards. We have to figure out where we came from.
HEDJ You won the easy way! We crawled down a tunnel!
REV It was NOT the easy way! That hole was crumbling in on itself. We can’t get back that way, even if we could find it.
HEDJ Well, I’m not re-tracing that water ride. It’s a chute to hell. (Shudders)
It was like the world collapsed in on itself.
REV I’m not scared of a little water.
HEDJ We have to BELIEVE we can get out. This cave has been here for millions of years, so…
REV According to Heisenberg —
HEDJ Don’t you quote Heisenberg at me!
REV
Then what about Occam’s Razor?
HEDJ
What’s that got to do with anything? Reasoning from general cases doesn’t lead to knowledge? DOESN’T help us here!
REV
That’s not what Occam’s Razor says!
HEDJ
It is so!
REV
It is not! I’m pre-law and I know! Occam’s Razor says the simplest idea’s the likeliest!
HEDJ
You’re pre-law? Wow! So am I!
REV
So act like it! How do we get out of here?
HEDJ By facing facts, that’s how. Let’s not go near the river of slime.
REV “River of slime”? Wow. It’s like a metaphor for life!
HEDJ Or a metaphor for college! See? I’m an idea guy.
REV A METAPHOR-guy. A metaphorical guy.
HEDJ Hey, stick with me. I’m the meta-guy.
(Drains the bottle then tosses it away)
REV I’m arresting you for littering.
HEDJ Go ahead! Lock me up!
REV
You know, you’re one bad idea after another.
HEDJ
Hey! Coming down here was YOUR idea.
REV
Well, exploring was YOUR idea! This was supposed to be a simple recon and not the Bataan Death March.
HEDJ
Don’t quote history at me.
REV
Go ahead! Rewrite history if you don’t like it. It’s what your gender does best.
HEDJ So you’re like one of those femi-Nazis?
REV I know how to stand up for myself is all.
HEDJ Well, law is about finding the truth. I don’t believe in rewriting anything. More information beats less information. Every time.
REV
Except for burnout and information overload.
HEDJ
And that’s relevant how?
REV If we’re trapped between getting MORE lost and a river of slime I say we should stay put and let them find us.
HEDJ Maybe we should produce a constant noise? We could sing or something.
REV Vibrations could cause a cave-in!
HEDJ
But I’m High-T! I’ve got to do SOMETHING!
REV What an infant! “Blame the testosterone.”
(She sits down, defeatedly.)
HEDJ
So we should do nothing? That’s your solution?
REV
We respect the environment and don’t make things worse.
(He sits down beside her. She looks at floor and he looks at ceiling.)
HEDJ So…do you have a boyfriend?
REV You know very well I don’t have a boyfriend! We know all about your “Stud Book!”
HEDJ You can’t! I mean, we don’t call it that!
REV I’ve seen it. Where you rate and rank us down to the smallest detail. So why did I rank “Kill?”
HEDJ Hey, I didn’t vote for that.
REV I don’t get “marry” status? Not even “pity date”?
HEDJ See how you’re so mad right now? And you criticize everything? I have to tell you guys hate that.
REV I’m discriminating, is all. Discerning. Girls would never get mad if your crew didn’t always act like a bunch of five year olds on a field trip at the zoo!
HEDJ Ah, we just love yanking your chain. Remember that nerd you used to date?
REV Bruce?
HEDJ Yeah, that guy. You pissed him off when you broke up with him. He stuffed the ballot box.
REV I didn’t break up with HIM! He was dating another girl! Obviously the relationship was over!
HEDJ Well, we don’t see it that way.
REV If I was dating both you AND another guy you would!
(He seems to acknowledge the truth of this.)
Blame the testosterone again?
HEDJ It’s a psychoactive drug, am I right? Turns us into cavemen.
REV And guess what! Here we are in a cave!
HEDJ You know you have a problem with tone.
REV We’re stuck in a cave and I have a problem with TONE?
HEDJ Yeah, to be frank. This whole self-presentation is just not working for you. You’re coming off as way too butch.
REV This butch RESCUED you, buddy!
HEDJ I’m just saying, nobody likes a nag.
REV You’re not even a very good caveman!
(HEDJ who was lounging, sits up)
HEDJ Oh, I’m a bad caveman now?
REV Since we’re being honest.
HEDJ You know, I can’t believe you’re pre-law. I had you pegged for like, drill team.
REV That is not a concentration! Didn’t bother to put majors in your Stud Book, did you? Didn’t seem important, I guess! My bra-size though – you care deeply about THAT.
HEDJ
(He’s been sizing her up)
Are you as aroused right now as me?
REV
More!
(Mutual lunge, start kissing passionately. Kissing turns into fighting.)
REV We should so NOT be doing this.
HEDJ (More slapping, more kissing, grunting as dialog is punctuated by kisses and grabs; each trying to pin the other)
Give me one good reason.
REV
Because we’ll hate ourselves in the morning?
HEDJ
But what if we love ourselves?
REV
Men are so changeable, is the problem.
HEDJ
And women aren’t?
(He almost gets on top – she flips him)
You’re so totally not my type.
REV And you’re not anybody’s type.
HEDJ I’m everybody’s type. I’ve had a lot more girls than you.
REV Plus, you’re a slut! Mister, if you “had” people, you didn’t “get” anything.
(She manages to pin him, gasps exhaustedly, then he flips her. Falls off her. Exhausted mutual panting.)
HEDJ What if we both agree to stay on the bottom?
(Removing each other’s clothes)
REV This is SUCH a bad idea. I mean, where can this lead?
HEDJ (Tender kissing)
Bad places. Bad, bad places.
REV You’re not protected and I’m not protected.
HEDJ We are so, so unprotected.
REV Completely vulnerable. I hope this isn’t just because we’re desperate.
HEDJ Desperation is the human condition. Actually, I feel a lot less desperate round you.
REV
Why’s that?
HEDJ
Because I like to measure everything but you can’t measure a superposition.
REV You can if you practice restraint.
HEDJ Tantric entanglement, here I am!
(They wrestle and pant, exhausted.)
REV
Pick one quick: dream or a nightmare?
HEDJ
Fantasy! Glorious sex fantasy! Plus, our hooking up makes it SO MUCH more likely our friends will find us.
REV How do you figure?
HEDJ We emit a measurable glow. Plus, Bo ALWAYS interrupts just when I’m getting it on.
REV We are not getting it on!
HEDJ Whatever we ARE doing, is fabulous.
REV We must have a plan.
HEDJ So you’re a planner? As well as a mega-woman?
REV I’ve gotten everything I wanted through planning.
HEDJ Wow! I have to say I love that in a girl.
REV You do?
HEDJ Because I’m the strategy guy!
REV You are? You? So this was all part of a strategy?
HEDJ A fantasy strategy! I’ve always wanted to be at the mercy of some sexually rapacious, gorgeous girl.
REV You think I’m gorgeous?
HEDJ Yes. Oh, yes. Plus you are really, really hot.
(Mutual kissyface)
REV I guess I should be glad video doesn’t work down here.
HEDJ Too bad! No one will believe it happened.
REV So we’ll have do it again.
HEDJ And again and again.
(Tender kissing)
REV It’s like you’re the last man on earth and I’m the last woman.
(They look at each other hotly — overwhelmed by frantic passion. Lights out on this couple, up on BO who has made it into the audience)
Alysse Aallyn 