The Playwright and the Blond Actress

A Play in One Act

commissioned by McCarter Theatre,
Princeton, New Jersey

PLAYWRIGHT, middle-aged

BLOND ACTRESS, childlike but about thirty

Lights up. The Playwright is typing on an old portable typewriter on a stool or a small raised table. His actions need not seem realistic. He faces the audience, brooding.

The Blond Actress appears at the rear, glimpsed through a scrim. She may also be veiled or wear something diaphanous over her face. Her clothing is white, and she is barefoot.

Blond Actress talks and laughs to herself. We need not hear her words clearly.

ACTRESS: . . . promised. "Always love you." "Never write about you." He said! Oh, I knew . . . But I didn"t . . . did I? ( Laughs.)

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Has been typing rapidly with two fingers but now ceases.) She"s always in the way . . . Oh God.

Blond Actress emerges with a flourish through the scrim, gliding rapidly behind the Playwright to the other side of the stage. A light, shrill ripple of laughter.

Playwright shivers. Has he heard? He removes the sheet of paper from the typewriter, hesitates, and crumples it. (As the Blond Actress mimes closing a window.) Playwright becomes warm, uncomfortable.

Playwright suddenly becomes excited, angry. He inserts another sheet of paper and quickly types a line or two.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Voice raised.) You did lie! Oh yes. When there wasn"t yet any need.

Blond Actress moves behind the Playwright. Fluffs the back of his hair and eases away, giggling, as he turns and fails to see her.

ACTRESS: That again?

PLAYWRIGHT: ( An old argument.) There was never any need. You debased us both, making me out to be . . . jealous. ( Pause.) Who shut that window? ( Pause; in a louder voice.) What about him?

Actress shakes her head vigorously, like a child.

PLAYWRIGHT: You know who I mean.

ACTRESS: ( Reluctantly, but in an earnest, breathless manner.) It was that . . . magic in him . . . he could reach right in . . .

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Meanly.) Busy fingers, eh?

ACTRESS: His eyes . . .

PLAYWRIGHT: Myopic, like mine. ( A beat.) But he exploited you. As a woman.

ACTRESS: A woman? What do I care about myself as a woman . . . ? I came to New York to act.

PLAYWRIGHT: Bullshit. You always gave him too much credit. The moth to the flame. I hate it, in interviews, you inflate his worth.

ACTRESS: Oh, but how could I . . . ? He was like . . . you.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Ignoring this; typing a few angry lines.) Yes. What women do. Deflect attention from themselves, to inflate some self-important bastard.

ACTRESS: ( Struck by the insight.) Oh. Is that what . . . ?

PLAYWRIGHT: Darling, you knew how to act when you came here. You could have taught us all.

Actress shakes her head uncertainly.

PLAYWRIGHT: I hate that, too, the way you deliberately . . . misinterpret yourself.

ACTRESS: I do? Gee . . .

PLAYWRIGHT: Sabotage yourself.

ACTRESS: "Sabotage" . . . ?

PLAYWRIGHT: You were a goddamned good actress when you came to New York. He didn"t create you.

ACTRESS: ( Sudden laughter.) You created me.

PLAYWRIGHT: Nobody created you. You were always yourself.

ACTRESS: But . . . who"s that? ( Pause; twines hair around fingers.) Well, I guess I knew . . . some things. When I made movies. I was reading Stanislaski . . . slavki. And the diary of . . . Nijinski.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Gently corrects pronunciation.) Nijinski.

ACTRESS: ( Suddenly upset.) Don"t you laugh at me!

PLAYWRIGHT: I"m not laughing at you.

ACTRESS: I see words on the page, I don"t know how to say them. But I know what they are.

PLAYWRIGHT: Right. You always did.

ACTRESS: It"s hard, though . . . to know what you know. Until it happens. Like . . . when I had to improvise? Like striking a match.

PLAYWRIGHT: You don"t have to know. You were a natural.

ACTRESS: But I want to know!

PLAYWRIGHT: The hell with that, you were a natural actress from the start.

ACTRESS: Oh, hey! Why"re you mad, Daddy?

PLAYWRIGHT: I"m only saying, darling, you were born with the gift. A kind of . . . genius. You don"t need theory. Forget Stanislavski. Nijinski. ( With disdain.) Him.

ACTRESS: ( Quickly.) I never think of him.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Disgusted.) Him messing with you . . . your talent, your soul . . . Somebody"s big thumbs smearing . . . breaking . . . a butterfly"s wings.

ACTRESS: Hey, I"m no butterfly. Feel my muscle? My leg here. I"m a dancer.

The Playwright turns as if to touch the Actress, who has moved away.

The Actress, restless, executes several dance steps.

PLAYWRIGHT: Bullshit theory is for somebody like him . . . can"t act, can"t write.

ACTRESS: Kiss-kiss, Daddy? C"mon.

The Playwright rises to approach the Actress, who eludes him.

ACTRESS: Hey, listen: he wasn"t my lover, really.

PLAYWRIGHT: What"s that mean-"really"?

ACTRESS: Oh, he might"ve done some things, but it wasn"t . . . Don"t look at me like that, Daddy. That scares me. ( She seems genuinely scared.)

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Calmly.) What did he do?

ACTRESS: ( A giggle.) Nothing actual.

PLAYWRIGHT: He . . . touched you?

ACTRESS: I guess. How d"you mean?

PLAYWRIGHT: As a man touches a woman.

ACTRESS: ( Drawing near, a quick caress.) Mmmm. Like this?

Playwright is startled.

ACTRESS: . . . This? ( Another caress.) Maybe this?

Playwright reaches for her hand as if to bring it to his lips, but she eases away.

ACTRESS: But Daddy, like I said: it wasn"t anything actual, y"know?

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Agitated.) "Actual" . . . ?

ACTRESS: Just something in his office? Like . . . a present to him? He asked to interview me. ( Pause, as if such an honor astonished her.) He was skeptical, he said . Why"d a famous movie star want to study at his theater? He thought it was . . . some kind of publicity thing? Like anybody"d care where I went, what I did? Now I"m done with movies? ( Pause.) He fired these questions at me. He was suspicious, I don"t blame him. I guess I cried. ( Pause.)

PLAYWRIGHT: What kind of questions did he ask you?

ACTRESS: My . . . motivation.

PLAYWRIGHT: Which was?

ACTRESS: ( Almost inaudibly.) To . . . not die.

PLAYWRIGHT: What?

ACTRESS: To not die. To keep on . . .

PLAYWRIGHT: Was that when he touched you? To "comfort" you?

Actress is agitated and doesn"t reply.

PLAYWRIGHT: Eventually he made love to you, yes? How many times?

ACTRESS: Oh, it wasn"t l-love! I don"t know . . . Gee, Daddy, this makes me feel bad. You"re mad at me.

PLAYWRIGHT: Darling, I"m not mad at you. I"m just trying to understand.

ACTRESS: I didn"t even know you then! I was . . . divorced.

PLAYWRIGHT: You always, unfailingly, met in that . . . smelly . . . office of his.

Actress shrugs.

PLAYWRIGHT: That greasy . . . stained . . . sofa of his.

Actress shrugs.

PLAYWRIGHT: Why?!

ACTRESS: I was so flattered! This New York intellectual . . . this brilliant . . . Jew . . . So many books in his office! And he"d read them, you could tell. Some of them . . . the titles I could see . . . in German? Russian? A picture of Mr. Pearlman with Eugene O"Neill. All these great actors . . . ( Excited, recounting.) I saw this book in German? I"d read, in English? ( Mimes pulling a book off a shelf, opening it.) Scho-pen-haur-er. I made this joke, "I can sure read Scho-pen-hauer better when he writes in English, than like this."

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Laughs.) That"s funny.

ACTRESS: ( Pleased.) Mr. Pearlman laughed, too. ( Pause.) But he didn"t believe me, I"d read that book. In any language. ( Pause.) I mean, I read some parts of that book. A photographer I used to know gave me a copy . . . "This is the unsparing truth, The World as Will and Idea."

PLAYWRIGHT: Bullshit! A woman like you, contaminating your mind with "philosophy."

ACTRESS: I read it till I felt too sad.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( As if conceding a point.) He was always saying, people asked about you, how surprised he was. Your quality. What you"re really like.

ACTRESS: ( Shy.) Gosh, what"d that be? What I"m really like? ( Pause.)

Playwright types a few words, staccato as if inspired.

ACTRESS: Oh, Daddy, you don"t ever tell people, do you? Because I"m your . . . wife.

Playwright continues typing.

ACTRESS: ( Anxious.) A husband and a wife, that"s a sacred bond. Even the law honors that. You can"t be forced to testify.

PLAYWRIGHT: Darling, I would never speak of you. It would be like flaying my own skin.

ACTRESS: You would never write about me, either . . . would you?

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Offended.) Of course not.

ACTRESS: This that happened . . . with him . . . was just . . . just . . . what happened. How many times I tried to tell you, Daddy. Like a, a present to him, to thank him? Like . . ."The Blond Actress"? For a few minutes.

PLAYWRIGHT: You"re saying you gave the Blond Actress to that pig. Let him make love to her.

ACTRESS: He wasn"t a pig.

PLAYWRIGHT: He was a prince? A saint?

ACTRESS: How"d a saint make love? ( Giggles.)

PLAYWRIGHT: Exactly what did he do?

ACTRESS: Oh, mainly just . . . kissing me. Different places.

PLAYWRIGHT: With your clothes on, or off?

ACTRESS: Mostly on. I don"t know.

PLAYWRIGHT: His clothes?

ACTRESS: Daddy, I don"t know! I didn"t look.

PLAYWRIGHT: And did you have a . . . sexual response?

ACTRESS: Probably not. I don"t, mostly . . . Except with somebody I love. Like you.

PLAYWRIGHT: Keep me out of this! This is about you and that pig.

ACTRESS: He wasn"t a pig! Just a man.

PLAYWRIGHT: A man among men.

Actress moves away, restless; a touch of mania in her dance movements. She edges partly behind the scrim as if about to exit.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Loudly.) A man among the Blond Actress"s men.

Actress returns, gliding in a dance routine.

ACTRESS: Now I remember! I"d think of how it wasn"t me anyway. But Magda in your play. ( She"s thrilled.) The gift you were giving me, and I hadn"t even met you . . . yet.

PLAYWRIGHT: He cast you without consulting me. He did all the casting when he directed.

ACTRESS: He didn"t tell you about me, I know! I was so scared . . . I revered you so.

PLAYWRIGHT: He told me, "Trust me. I"ve got your Magda."

ACTRESS: Did you trust him?

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Has to admit this.) Yes.

ACTRESS: Why I don"t remember better, my m-mind gets stuck on a role I"m doing, and I . . . it"s like I"m in two places at once? With other people but not . . . with them. Why I love to act. Even when I"m alone I"m not.

PLAYWRIGHT: Your gift is so natural, you don"t "act." You require no technique. Yes, it"s like a match being struck. A sudden flaring flame . . .

ACTRESS: ( Mild protest.) But I like to read! I got good grades in school. I like to . . . think. It"s like talking with somebody. In Hollywood, on the set, I"d have to hide my book if I was reading . . . ( Laughs.) People thought I was strange.

PLAYWRIGHT: Your mind can get muddled. You"re easily influenced.

ACTRESS: Only by people I trust.

PLAYWRIGHT: I trusted Pearlman.

ACTRESS: He never hurt you. He"d boast about you.

PLAYWRIGHT: When we were investigated by HUAC, Pearlman hired an expensive Harvard lawyer. Wasp. Me, I hired a guy right here in Manhattan, a friend. "Commie-lawyer," he was called. I was the idealist. Pearlman was the pragmatist. ( Pause.) Damned lucky I didn"t get sent to prison.

ACTRESS: Oh, Daddy! That won"t ever happen again. It"s 1956 now. We"re more advanced.

PLAYWRIGHT: He had a sexual response, yes?

ACTRESS: Ask him. He"s your friend from way back.

During Playwright"s next lines, Actress exits swiftly.

PLAYWRIGHT: You and him . . . you never told the full truth, did you?

Actress has gone. Playwright glances around baffled.

 

Has the scene ended? Playwright is stunned. Goes to the window to open it, but it"s stuck.

PLAYWRIGHT: ( Tugging at collar.) So warm . . . ( Hand to forehead.) Fever? ( Laughs.) Then I can"t be dead.

The Actress returns with several fresh-cut flowers and a vase with water in it. The flowers have large heads, like hydrangea.

ACTRESS: ( A manic gaiety.) It"s our anniversary, the day we met.

 

PLAYWRIGHT: Beautiful flowers . . . But you"ve cut