Etiquette and Vitriol (35 page)

PHYLLIS:
That's no attitude. How do you know you can't? You have to try and find out that you can't.

BISHOP:
Daddy c-c-could build a lean-to. He could build a split-level twin dwelling.

PHYLLIS:
Do not mention your father again tonight.

BISHOP:
I'm s-s-sorry.
(Out)
Katharine Hepburn made
Philadelphia Story
in n-n-n-nineteen-forty-one. After being labeled box-office poison.

PHYLLIS:
I'm ignoring that. Now. What will you need to build a lean-to?

BISHOP:
I can't build a lean-to!

PHYLLIS:
Why not?!

BISHOP:
Because I'm hungry!!

PHYLLIS:
Don't raise your voice to me!

BISHOP:
I'm s-s-sorry.

PHYLLIS:
I realize you're frightened—

BISHOP:
I'm hungry—

PHYLLIS:
And hungry.

BISHOP:
You hate me and you wish I was dead.

PHYLLIS:
What a terrible thing to say.

BISHOP:
Why won't you feed me?

PHYLLIS:
Eat seaweed.

BISHOP:
I'm not Chinese.

PHYLLIS:
I thought you were hungry?

BISHOP:
It's poison.

PHYLLIS:
It's sushi.

BISHOP:
It's creepy.

PHYLLIS:
Eat rocks, eat sand—oh, hand me my purse.

(He does so.)

Here. Eat lipstick. It's not poison.

BISHOP:
Thank you.
(He eats it)

PHYLLIS
(Out)
: He was always a picky eater. As a baby, Bishop threw up everything five minutes after he ate it. Tell you the truth, I thought he was bulimic.

BISHOP:
Done!

PHYLLIS:
You didn't save me any?

BISHOP:
I didn't think you l-l-liked lipstick.

PHYLLIS:
That's not the point.

BISHOP:
I'm sorry.

PHYLLIS
(Bright)
: Now. What will you need to build a lean-to?

BISHOP:
M-m-mother?

PHYLLIS:
You can get supplies from the wreckage—

BISHOP:
M-m-mother?

PHYLLIS:
You can build here, with a southern exposure and a view of the sea—

BISHOP:
M-m-mother!

PHYLLIS:
That'll be lovely—

BISHOP:
Mommy!

PHYLLIS:
What is it?

BISHOP:
I'm still hungry.

PHYLLIS:
You just ate a whole lipstick.

BISHOP:
We're going to starve to death, aren't we?

PHYLLIS:
Don't be ridiculous. I have lots of lipsticks.
(Out)
Different colors for different outfits.

BISHOP:
You can't live on lipstick.

PHYLLIS:
I don't see why not.

BISHOP:
It has no v-v-vitamins.

PHYLLIS:
We'll fish.

BISHOP:
We have no t-t-tackle.

PHYLLIS:
We'll hunt.

BISHOP:
We're going to starve to death!!

PHYLLIS:
We'll trim down!

BISHOP:
I'm thin now!

PHYLLIS:
Five pounds, and you'll be amazed at how clothing hangs off of you!

BISHOP:
You don't care.

PHYLLIS:
Please, I'm tired, I'm irritated and I have sand in my stockings! Try to cooperate. Now, if the lean-to faces this way, the morning sun will get in my eyes—

BISHOP:
WE'RE GOING TO DIE! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!

WE'RE GOING TO STARVE TO DEATH!! WE'LL DIE!!

PHYLLIS:
ALL RIGHT!! All right. Hand me my purse.

(He does so. She pulls out a huge butcher's knife.)

Here's a knife. Now. Go back to the plane and cut the arm off that nun. Bring it back here and I'll cook it and we'll eat it.

BISHOP:
What?

PHYLLIS:
Go cut off the nun's arm and I'll cook it. All right?

BISHOP:
I c-c-can't!

PHYLLIS:
Pardon me?

BISHOP:
I c-c-can't do that.

PHYLLIS:
I thought you were hungry. I'm sorry.

BISHOP:
I am.

PHYLLIS:
Do you think it's going to start raining cheeseburgers?

BISHOP:
N-n-no.

PHYLLIS:
Can you eat the air? Can you eat the water?

BISHOP:
N-n-no.

PHYLLIS:
So what are you going to eat?

BISHOP:
I don't know!

PHYLLIS:
Do you want to starve to death?

BISHOP:
I can't d-d-do it!!

PHYLLIS:
Look! I'm frightened too! Don't you think I'm scared? I am. I'm scared. So what? What do we do? Do we sit here and watch each other decay? Quizzing each other on Katharine Hepburn trivia while we wither to skeletons? Is that it? Or do we take matters into our own hands? She's already dead. You're not doing anything wrong.

BISHOP
(Out)
: She was a nun!

PHYLLIS:
That's why I picked her!

BISHOP:
Don't m-m-make me.

PHYLLIS:
It's time to grow up.

BISHOP:
Why don't you love me?

PHYLLIS:
Who said I don't?

BISHOP:
If you loved me you w-wouldn't make me d-d-do this.

PHYLLIS:
No. I'd let you starve to death. In front of me. I'd let you die. That, I take it, would be proof of my maternal instincts.

BISHOP:
You do it.

PHYLLIS:
Let's be realistic. You are wearing Dalton blues. I have on my Michael Kors.

BISHOP:
What's that?

PHYLLIS:
My dress, which I'd just as soon not splatter with blood.

BISHOP:
I c-c-can't.

PHYLLIS:
It's easy.

BISHOP:
I'm not hungry anymore.

PHYLLIS:
Just do it!

BISHOP:
Lipstick filled me up. That was one big lipstick.

PHYLLIS:
Make me proud? Please, Bishop.

BISHOP:
But—

PHYLLIS
(Gentle)
: When you get back, we'll build a fire.

BISHOP:
Yes, M-m-mother.

PHYLLIS:
That's a good boy.

(Bishop exits over a dune. Phyllis addresses the audience.)
I had a child whom I loved and whom I taught to sever the arms of nuns.

(There is a light change, indicating a flashback. Howard enters, perhaps wearing tails. Phyllis may drop some piece of her costume. She joins him. It is their wedding night. She is giddy and young.)

HOWARD:
Are you happy?

PHYLLIS:
It was a beautiful wedding.

HOWARD:
It was.

PHYLLIS:
Canary and avocado.

HOWARD:
You were a beautiful bride.

PHYLLIS:
Do you love me, Howard?

HOWARD:
I do, dumpling.

PHYLLIS:
My name is Phyllis.

HOWARD:
I know that.

PHYLLIS:
Why did you call me dumpling?

HOWARD:
It was a euphemism.

PHYLLIS
(As if he'd sneezed)
: God bless you.
(Out)
I was young and used to coasting on my looks.

HOWARD:
You look very beautiful, there by the window.

PHYLLIS:
Me? You mean me?

HOWARD
(Out)
: She was silly. She was a breath of fresh air.
(To
Phyllis)
Let's go to bed.

PHYLLIS:
Are you sleepy?

HOWARD:
That's not what I meant, sweetpea.

PHYLLIS:
Sweetpea? Who's sweetpea?

HOWARD:
That's not what I meant.

PHYLLIS:
What did you mean? By what? When? Where were we?

HOWARD:
Let's make love.

PHYLLIS:
Couldn't we get to know each other first?

HOWARD:
It's our wedding night.

PHYLLIS:
It's never too late.

HOWARD:
Come to bed.

PHYLLIS:
My sister Marie, who was always the smart one, says that sex is a beautiful, special event, and a woman's only real power over a man.

HOWARD:
You have a beautiful neck.

PHYLLIS:
My mother says, “What will you have and how would you like that cooked?” She's a waitress.

HOWARD:
Beautiful ears.

PHYLLIS:
My father just grunts if you block the TV.

HOWARD:
Beautiful lips.

PHYLLIS
(Out)
: He has remote control. He likes wrestling.

HOWARD:
Beautiful shoulders.

PHYLLIS:
I want a baby.

HOWARD:
Why?

PHYLLIS:
You would like me better if I had a baby.

HOWARD:
I don't know if that's true, cookiepuss.

PHYLLIS
(Frustrated)
: I keep telling you—

HOWARD:
I know, I know. Your name is Phyllis.

PHYLLIS:
I think if we had a child we would be bonded. And you would feel, even if only unconsciously, a debt of gratitude towards me for supplying you with a miniature version of yourself, who would in turn reproduce and continue the cycle, ensuring, in an abstract way, your immortality, thus easing your fear of death.

HOWARD:
Phyllis?

PHYLLIS:
I read it.

HOWARD:
Let's go to bed.

PHYLLIS:
I want to make a baby!

HOWARD:
I want to hold you. I want to protect you. I want to keep you with me forever and shield you from the world. I want to take care of you.

PHYLLIS:
I think I'd like that.

HOWARD:
You would, cupcake.

PHYLLIS:
My name is—

HOWARD:
Stop talking.

(Howard embraces her and kisses her. Bishop appears, standing atop the dune. He holds high the nun's arm, dripping with blood, still clutching a rosary.)

BISHOP:
I DID IT!!!

(Phyllis and Howard break their embrace and look up at Bishop. There is a blackout. Phyllis walks into a pool of light and addresses the audience.)

PHYLLIS:
Lately, I have been having a recurring dream. When I was a little girl, we lived in a part of Philadelphia called Society Hill. In an apartment. Down the hall from us lived a Mr. Antonelli. Mr. Antonelli worked at the Museum of Natural History. And he was big. He was a big man. Must've weighed three hundred pounds. He was the fattest human being I'd ever seen, close up. But he was well- groomed. And on certain nights of the week, Saturdays, I think, Saturdays mostly and Thursdays, Mr. Antonelli would dress as a woman and go wherever three-hundred-pound men who dress as women go, to seek whatever they can mistake for love. He'd put on a skirt and a blouse, sometimes a mumu-Bloody-Mary-type thing. And a lot of makeup. He wore a wig, a reddish kind of Ethel Merman affair. And always lovely matching jewelry sets: green rhinestone earrings, green rhinestone bracelets, brooches. He got all dolled up and went off to seek others like himself (although I can't imagine there were many others like Mr. Antonelli; three-hundred-pound transvestites are pretty much on their own in the world, I should think). When I was six, I was going to a friend's birthday party one Saturday, and I was wearing the sweetest little powder-blue jumper, and Mr. Antonelli got into the elevator with my mother and me. He looked down at me—this great mountain of gelatinous white flesh, and said, “My goodness, what a sweet little blue dress you have on.” And I said, “You could borrow it sometime, if you want, Mr. Antonelli.” I was six, and the concept of Junior and Misses sizing had not yet been made clear to me. Well, my mother squeezed my hand so tightly I thought my fingers would snap off. Once on the street, she explained to me that I must never, ever speak to Mr. Antonelli again. If he spoke to me, I was to nod politely. But
I was never—under any circumstances—to speak to him again. And I was certainly not to get into the elevator with him. My mother explained to me that Mr. Antonelli was a freak. That he should be locked up. Forgotten about. That Mr. Antonelli, although not to blame him for his condition, was nevertheless, the lowest form of the species, a creature to fear, and his parents, poor souls, must have a terrible burden to bear. Now. In my dream, I'm a little girl again. And I'm wearing my little powder-blue jumper. The one I wore that day. Only, I'm not on my way to any birthday party. I'm on a field trip with my class from school. We're at the zoo. Riding the monorail and laughing. The sun is shining, balloons fill the sky and we have cotton candy for lunch. We go to the reptile house and the polar-bear cage and the tigers are sunning themselves. Then we go to the monkey house. But there aren't any monkeys. There are, climbing the jungle gym, picking salt from their hair, dozens and dozens of fat men in skirts. Huge fat men, with matching jewelry sets, swinging from limb to limb, laughing in no language. And everyone laughs and points. And then they turn around. All the monkeys. All the men turn around at once. They turn around and look at me, right at me. And they all have the same face. And it's Bishop's face. They all have my son's face.