CONTENTS

Frontmatter

Body

Backmatter
"Lisa Loomer's ACCELERANDO puts a refreshing new spin on the familiar theme of looking for
love in all the wrong (or possibly right) places [the] Author's gift is an ability to treat her
subject and subjects sympathetically while at the same time sticking them with keenly honed comic
barbs."
Variety

"ACCELERANDO is a carefree, unconventional and funny play."

Drama-Logue

"To a classical musician, 'accelerando' means speed it up, but only in music, not in life. The word
holds richer potency for a ballet dancer recovering from a broken foot, intent on finding true love
by dawn on this particular New Year's Eve Lisa Loomer's delightfully kinky romantic comedy
ACCELERANDO is inventive and absorbing His mystical approach to life, including an
acceptance of reincarnation and the theory that they may be soulmates risen above the ruination
of marriage, bounces joyfully off her matter-of-fact belief in the romantic power of legal
bonding."
The Los Angeles Times
ACCELERANDO
BY LISA LOOMER
ACCELERANDO
Copyright 1998, Lisa Loomer
All Rights Reserved
CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that performance of ACCELERANDO is
subject to payment of a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of
America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion
of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-
American Copyright Convention, the Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of
all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including
without limitation professional/amateur stage rights, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public
reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, all other forms of mechanical,
electronic and digital reproduction, transmission and distribution, such as CD, DVD, the Internet,
private and file-sharing networks, information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, and the
rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed upon
the matter of readings, permission for which must be secured from the Author's agent in writing.
The English language stock and amateur stage performance rights in the United States, its territories,
possessions and Canada for ACCELERANDO are controlled exclusively by DRAMATISTS PLAY
SERVICE, INC., 440 Park Avenue South, New York, NY 10016. No professional or nonprofessional
performance of the Play may be given without obtaining in advance the written permission of
DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC., and paying the requisite fee.
Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to Abrams Artists Agency, 275 Seventh
Avenue, 26th Floor, New York, NY 10001. Attn: Peter Hagan.
SPECIAL NOTE
Anyone receiving permission to produce ACCELERANDO is required to give credit to the Author as
sole and exclusive Author of the Play on the title page of all programs distributed in connection with
performances of the Play and in all instances in which the title of the Play appears for purposes of
advertising, publicizing or otherwise exploiting the Play and/or a production thereof. The name of the
Author must appear on a separate line, in which no other name appears, immediately beneath the title
and in size of type equal to 50% of the size of the largest, most prominent letter used for the title of
the Play. No person, firm or entity may receive credit larger or more prominent than that accorded the
Author.
SPECIAL NOTE ON SONGS AND RECORDINGS
For performances of copyrighted songs, arrangements or recordings mentioned in this Play, the
permission of the copyright owner(s) must be obtained. Other songs, arrangements or recordings may
be substituted provided permission from the copyright owner(s) of such songs, arrangements or
recordings is obtained; or songs, arrangements or recordings in the public domain may be substituted.
ACCELERANDO was produced by Odyssey Theatre Ensemble (Ron Sossi, Artistic Director) in Los
Angeles, California, in July 1991. It was co-directed by Jody McAuliffe and Ron Sossi; the set design
was by Vincent Jefferds; the costume design was by Jenny T. Jefferds; the lighting design was by
Mitchell S. Levine; the original music was by Mitchell Greenhill; live percussion was by Elijah
Koenig; the dramaturg was Jan Lewis; and the production stage manager was Tamra Pica. The cast
was as follows:
HE Pamela Gien
SHE Ron Orbach
MAMI Alina Cenal
MOTHER Lynn Milgrim
 CHARACTERS

SHE A ballet dancer, thirties. Part Hungarian, part Puerto Rican. Intelligent, down to earth, and
wry. On the other hand, romantic and impressionable in a rush to find love because the world
could end tomorrow, and she has the facts to prove it.
HE A classical musician. Thirties. WASP. Passionate about his work and his ideas. Often
ingenuous and spontaneous like a child. On the other hand, he is "The First Bassoon." And an aspiring
filmmaker. In a rush for Art.
MAMI Her mother, Puerto Rican. Could be anywhere from forty-five to sixty, as she appears in
She's mind. A woman of quick changes, rapid fire delivery, and a wild imagination.
MOTHER His mother, WASP. Patrician. Subtle. Same age as Mami. A woman with broken
dreams and big plans for her son.
FATHER His. A slide of a businessman in a doorway, with a nice smile and his briefcase. An
offstage voice. (Can be taped.)
FATHER Hers. A slide of a Hungarian immigrant, lying on the couch, eyes closed, the Magyarsag
Weekly across his chest. He doesn't say a word.

TIME

The action of the play takes place in one nighttime because, with the way the world is speeding up
nowadays
a. A nighttime now is what a lifetime used to be.
b. A relationship that lasts a whole night is a long-term affair.
c. He's busy. And She's in a rush.

PLACE

New York City, the Upper West Side.

 SOME NOTES ON PRODUCTION

MUSIC

There is a live musician, accenting moments with chimes, bells, South American flute, claves, rattles,
bongos, and a deep Japanese bass drum (taiko) which is like the sound of She's heartbeat. Think of
the musician as Fate with a sense of humor.
Mami is usually accompanied by a great Latina torch singer like La Lupe.
Mother's ploys are underscored by music such as Debussy's "The Girl With the Flaxen Hair." [See
Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.]

MOTHERS AND FATHERS

The mothers appear in dreams or moments of conflict or fear, when reason takes a walk, leaving the
door open for our mothers. The fathers appear on slides, large as life but not quite flesh and blood,
because these fathers weren't around much, but still they've left their impression.
 THE SET

The set should be simple and humorously mystical. His apartment consists of a futon for courtship,
unfolding to a bed for the relationship, and areas for escape. An antique Japanese saber hangs over
the bed. And there is a large golden Buddha, watching everything. If a scrim is used upstage, the
mothers can walk through walls.
There might be a kitchen area, with table and chairs, or floor pillows can be used instead. There's a
practice area, sectioned off by a Japanese screen on which slides can be projected. It consists of a
chair, a music stand, and a bassoon. Other slides might be projected over the bed. There's also a
bathroom lined with, or filled with, yellow legal pads. This is where he works on his film.
The calendar can be projected on a downstage curtain, or scrim, which will later open to reveal his
apartment. In one production, it was painted on the floor. Slides evoking a party, a restaurant, and
New York City can also be projected on the scrim.

THE PHOTOGRAPHIC SLIDES

Aside from the fathers, other photographic slides tell us what a character is dreaming, or counterpoint
what a character is saying with a subconscious image. Slides also announce the title of a scene and
quickly disappear.
 ACCELERANDO
ACT ONE
Prelude

Human History: The Last 7,291 Years

She talks to the audience. A long horizontal calendar is projected on the scrim behind her. Each
month lights up as She comes to it. Each is a different color, and is filled with drawings and
notations. She is filling in last touches as She speaks.
SHE. I've been making this calendar on the wall in my apartment a Human History Calendar, the
major events of the world from fifty-three hundred b.c. till now. It runs from January to December,
and each month is the equivalent of six hundred years. (Pause.) I'm making it to find out what's
important. (Ravel's "Bolero" [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] fades
up slow and soft.)
The only thing in January is a picture of a fairly naked guy with a bow and arrow that's it, that
was the big thing till about forty-seven twenty b.c. and then February is completely blank. Six
hundred years like a weekend with nothing on TV. March brought round mud brick houses in Egypt
and domesticated animals And in April, there was the Mayan calender and settlements along the
Nile! So April picked up, and May was really hopping Stonehenge, the Pyramids, the Sphynx
And in June the Old Testament, and indoor plumbing in the Indus Valley. July saw irrigation in
China, Greek gods, the arch And in August the concept of karma was born, and so was Buddha
(Noticing in the audience.) a smile from the lady in the third row with the crystal in her purse, and
we're up to four-sixty b.c. In September there was the Golden Age of Greece, the coliseum in Rome
Jesus Christ! (Noticing in the audience.) a gay couple in the back and several born-again
Christians just smiled almost simultaneously and we're into a.d. now, and the year, our Human
History, is three-quarters over. ("Bolero" [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright
page.] is building now, and She takes a breath and speeds up too.)
October: Atilla the Hun, the Goths, Visigoths, Vikings and Vandals Mohammed the decimal
system (Incredulous.)
Two months to go till the present, we've covered five-sixths of time as we know it, and we're just
up to the DECIMAL SYSTEM! (Pressing on, faster.)
November: The printing press, the windmill, the clock, the plague, firearms, Zen And finally
(The month of December begins to pulse.)
December, the last six hundred years: (Fast as She can.)
The Renaissance, the Industrial Revolution, the Electronic Age Shakespeare, Bach, Cortes,
Hitler Michaelangelo, Fats Domino the Taj Mahal, the theme park (Quick breath.) Einstein,
the radio, and the Bolshevic revolution all on the same Human History Calendar day! The airplane,
the steamboat, the television, the Chunky TWO world wars, TWO-faced tape, the Space Age, the
New Age, the Chat Room, ANOTHER plague, ANOTHER war, and any millisecond now the
Bomb. ("Bolero" [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] cuts abruptly.
She takes a breath, exhausted.)
 Jesus, what a busy month. If this was what your date book looked like this month, you'd take a gun
and blow your brains out. And maybe that's how we feel as a civilization. We've been overbooked
for about six hundred years, we have a giant collective migraine, and we're real close to blowing out
our brains. (An afterthought.)
Forget the planet. The planet is like one big disgusting apartment. Who has time to clean it up?
(Pause.)
And I can't slow this down, any of it. I can't stop the scientists from discovering, or the viruses
from spreading, or the computers from computing, or the farmboys from making the chickens grow too
fast. I can't even take drugs to keep up or drugs to slow it down like I did yesterday in the Eighties,
because I'm so much older and wiser now, I know I'd just come down or die, and time would just
keep speeding up without me. The only thing that takes any time these days is cancer. And the only
thing that counteracts time (Like a kid discovering shells.) is love. Because love is the one thing
man can't make a profit on. See, take war. With war you make a fortune. You can get rich as hell on
disease, make a bundle on sex art's a good investment but nobody makes jack shit on love.
Because it's the one thing they can't speed up, beef up, or mass produce! (To a guy in the audience.)
I'm not talking about sex here, I'm talking about love, okay? Since fifty-three hundred b.c., there's
been no progress in the area of love at all. There's no more of it, and it's no better, and therefore, it's
the one sure way to defy time. I mean, who's going to tell you, "Hey, couldya just hurry up and love
me a little faster?" So, thinking practically for the first time in my life, love is the only practical,
reasonable, conclusion I can come to. It's the one thing worth spending my time on. (She looks at her
calendar, worries, then gathers courage.)
And I figure I've got till sunup to find it.
Scene 1
They Meet
A slide is projected on the scrim which suggests a New Year's Eve party. A romantic love song,
something like Linda Rondstadt's "When I Fall in Love," [See Special Note on Songs and
Recordings on copyright page.] is playing. She stands, listening to the music, moved. He notices
her from across the room and frames her with his hands, seeing her for the camera. He goes to
her.
HE. I hate this music.
SHE. (Lying, near tears.) So do I.
HE. I mean, what is she talking about, when she falls in love it will be forever? What's forever? A
weekend? A year or two? Lifetime after lifetime after lifetime? Forever's obsolete. Forever ain't what
it used to be, that's for sure.
SHE. (Fervently.) Yes, yes, I know!
HE. So why the absolutes? She's going to fall in love forever or she's "never" going to fall in love?
What's she going to do, take courses at The Learning Annex for the rest of her life?
SHE. (Appalled.) No!
HE. It's irresponsible songwriting. Music is an incredibly powerful means of communication, and
composers should have to they should have to take a test of their spiritual evolvement before
they're allowed to put words to it. Because people are just so hungry for the big answers they
believe anything that's got a good melody line. (She is perplexed, but intrigued.)
SHE. Uh-huh
HE. Do you know Kitaro's "Full Moon Story"? [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on
copyright page.] (The romantic love song is cut mid-croon, and new-age music synchronistically
begins.)
SHE. (Jokes.) Does the jacket have a pair of crystal temples?
HE. (Confused.) I think it's a full moon.
SHE. Does he do "Prelude to Air"? [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.]
HE. I don't know "Prelude to Air."
SHE. Should be the first cut.
HE. You're putting me on?
SHE. (Smiling.) Yeah.
HE. I like that. (Looking at her body.) Do you do Tai Chi?
SHE. Rock 'n' roll.
HE. Do you meditate?
SHE. I obsess.
HE. You're (Hopefully.) Peruvian?
SHE. Puerto Rican. Half.
HE. What do your parents do?
SHE. They're crazy.
HE. Good. So are mine. (There is a light change. They either move to another part of the stage or
the elements of a restaurant appear around them.)
Scene 2
They Have Dinner
A Lemurian restaurant. Up-tempo new-age music. They sit at a table or on pillows on the floor.
HE. Have anything you like. Do you want chopsticks?
SHE. I'll tell you the truth. I think they're pretentious.
HE. Good for you!
SHE. But I like Thai food
HE. This isn't Thai. I wouldn't take you to eat Thai. This is the only Lemurian restaurant on the Upper
West Side. (Checks his watch.) Wine?
SHE. Will you have some?
HE. I don't drink, but you go ahead.
SHE. How come you don't drink?
HE. My body's too sensitive.
SHE. (Intrigued.) It is?
HE. I have to be careful with my energy. (Offhand.) I play with the Philharmonic, and in my spare
time I'm making a feature film.
SHE. What's it about?
HE. My film is about love. (A series of slides is projected on the scrim, evoking Upper Broadway at
night. They rise and make their way across the stage, down the street.
Slide 1. A romantic skyline.
Slide 2. A huge streetperson, holding out his hand for change. He and She hand the slide some
change.
Slide 3. A huger streetperson holding out his hand for change. He and She hand this slide some
change. Then, a huge hand juts out from the wings. They hand the hand some change, and exit.)
Scene 3
They Make Love
The scrim lifts, and they enter his apartment. Sound of bells and chimes.
HE. You have full lips. You could play the trombone. Can I kiss you?
SHE. How much time do you have?
HE. I usually do yoga at 6 a.m.
SHE. Okay. (Sound of one hit on a taiko, a large Japanese bass drum, as He kisses her.)
HE. And you?
SHE. I have some time (He leads her towards the futon.)
HE. I never had any time. I had practice.
SHE. For what?
HE. For performances.
SHE. And then what?
HE. (Confused.) What do you mean? I'm the first bassoon! Let's make love. (Simply.) I have to get up
early.
SHE. I can't go to sleep early
HE. Oh (Glances at his work space.) Well, I have some work I could do
SHE. (Enticing.) No
HE. (Notices.) You have beautiful breasts (Starts to walk away.) I should take out my contact
lenses, I'm legally blind
SHE. My breasts will be fantastic. (He turns back, and they fall on the bed as the lights start to
fade.)
HE. Yes. They are (In the near-dark.)
SHE. That's my elbow.
HE. Oh
SHE. But don't stop
HE. There? (Sound of a brush drawn across the skin of a drum.)
SHE. That's good.
HE. There? (Sound of chimes.)
SHE. Yes.
HE. How is this? (Sound of rattles.)
SHE. Good, good. Oh (Remembering.) WAIT! (The lights come up fast.) Do you have a you
know?
HE. (Playful.) A rubber? A raincoat? A diving suit? A French letter, a baby balloon, a cabinet of
love ?
SHE. Whatever
HE. A fish cap, a fearnaught, an English hat, a potent ally a rubber duckie?
SHE. (Urgently.) Do you have one? (The lights go down, fast. Sound of a hand pulling across a full
balloon, squeaky.)
HE. There. (Continuing to make love.) How's this?
SHE. Good.
HE. How's that?
SHE. Yes!
HE. Tell me (Sound of bongos beating a jungle rhythm.)
SHE. Uh-huh
HE. (Passionately, over the bongos.) When you took your SATs, did you have a hard time deciding
which was the best title for the story?
SHE. (Crying out.) Yes! Yes! I liked them all, yes. I could make them all work! Yes! (Sound of
bells.)
Scene 4
They Misunderstand
When the lights come up, they are sitting up in bed, content. She wears his Mostly Mozart T-shirt.
He is eating from a box of Sugar Frosted Flakes.
HE. You know, the beauty of this is we have no commit (Chokes a little.) no commitment except to
be good to each other until I have to get up for yoga. So let's just live in the moment. You know what I
mean?
SHE. (Still in the afterglow.) Okay.
HE. I mean, maybe we'll be together for lifetimes. On the other hand, sometimes one night can be as
full as a whole lifetime. You know?
SHE. Hmmm-hmmm.
HE. (Surprised.) Really?
SHE. Of course! The way the world is speeding up nowadays, a nighttime now is what a lifetime
used to be
HE. Yes!
SHE. (Passionately.) So we have to do whatever it is we have to do now!
HE. (Agreeing.) In the "now," yes. (He offers her the Sugar Frosted Flakes.)
SHE. I know exactly what you mean. (They are munching, agreeing, in perfect sync.)
HE. Because you are innately metaphysical. God. It's true. Latin women are the most metaphysical
women in the world. (Like a kid with a neat idea.) Suck my cock?
SHE. What!? What the hell do you mean "Suck your cock!?"
HE. Oh sorry. I'm sorry, I
SHE. No, no, wait a minute, what do you mean?
HE. (Completely sincere.) Look, I just thought we were beyond roles, beyond gender I mean, the
Higher Self isn't male or female, did you know that? When two Higher Selves get together and one
says to the other "suck my cock," do you think the other is offended? No, because on that level my
cock is your cock.
SHE. So if I were really evolved, I'd tell you to suck your own cock
HE. (Really trying to get through to her.) No, no, no, you're taking a very defensive position here.
This isn't the Seventies, the battle has been won. You're liberated! (He kisses her.) We know that, it's
a given. You're free! I can say to you, "suck my cock" because I know where I'm coming from as a
human being not as a man, the fact that I happen to be in a man's body has nothing to do with it!
Your being a woman is irrelevant! I know (With difficulty.) I've been a woman. Many times. (He
gets up, and starts to move around. This isn't easy to talk about.)
SHE. ("Uh-oh.") You were?
HE. (Indignant.) I was a geisha, for God's sake! Which is an art by the way, and I'm very proud of
that lifetime. I'm as proud to say I was a geisha as I am to say I play with the Philharmonic. I've been
there, okay, baby? I've been the suckor and the suckee. And that's what it's all about. (A pause. This is
even harder to share.)
 I've borne children. I've had children taken from me at childbirth and drowned. Three little girls
because the Emperor wanted a boy child. There was no use for girls, girls were a dishonor. Do you
know what it is like to carry a child for nine months and have it TORN from your body and thrown in
a river? I've been burned at the stake for my womanhood. For my sensitivity and my beliefs. You
modern women go out and sign a petition on Columbus Avenue so you can buy mascara without going
into karmic overload for blinding a bunny rabbit well, when one of your sisters is holding out the
clipboard, do you even consider the possibility of being BURNED AT THE STAKE? You don't like
to get too near the microwave well, you'd BEG for the microwave if you'd been burned at the
stake, like I have. You think being burned is when a guy goes fishing with his buddies and doesn't call
for a couple of months. Well, I've been BURNED, baby (Breaking.)
And for what? For being a woman. Shit. (Pause. Emotional.)
I don't talk about my past with too many people. But I just think you should know where I'm coming
from when I ask you to suck my (He turns. She seems to be asleep.) cock. (He eats some flakes,
puts in his earplugs, and rolls over. She gets up, tiptoes downstage, and gestures "Huh?" to the
audience.)
SHE. I, uh I'm not too sure about other lifetimes. I was just kind of hoping we'd make it through
this one night. (She takes a step closer.)
Look, I'm sorry, but I liked Shirley MacLaine better before. I liked her better in Some Came
Running when she said something like (Softly and sweetly.)
"Oh, hon, I love you so terrible, awful much," than in Out on a Limb when she said something like
(Didacticly.)
"Love is our ultimate purpose on this planet." I cried when she said, "Oh hon, I love you so
terrible, awful much." I wanted to run out and love someone that much too. (To a woman in the
audience.)
She carried this purse that was a little cloth dog with a zipper. And, yeah, she was stupid,
and maybe I shouldn't like her because she let Frank Sinatra treat her like shit but when the movie
was over, I missed her. I cried when she got shot in that amusement park. The very night she and
Frank were married. She was running to protect Frank from some lowlife and this EVIL
just blew her away in front of the Ferris wheel. And there she was, lying on top of Frank with her
little purse dog. And I cried because something sweet and good and simple was over. (Glances back
at He.)
Look, I'm just going to give him till morning. I don't want to hold his past against him. (Goes back
to bed.)
At least he's trying to make a film about love. (She goes to sleep. He rolls over in his sleep and
puts his arms around her.)
Scene 5
Mostly Mothers
In the dark we hear something hauntingly lyrical like Debussy's "The Girl With the Flaxen Hair"
[See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] on a piano. Lights come up just
enough to see that He and She are asleep in each other's arms.
His mother, Mother, tiptoes on, preferably through a wall. She wears evening clothes and long
white gloves. Mother gives She a little push, and She rolls over.
Now Mother comes around in front of the bed and climbs in between them. Mother gives She a
little nudge with her hip, knocking her off the bed, and starts to stroke her son's hair. He think it's
She and strokes Mother's breast.
Mother wraps her arms around him, and is just about to climb on top and wrap her legs too
when He starts to thrash about and moan in his sleep, knocking Mother to the floor.
HE. (Continuing to thrash in his sleep.) No, please, stop, let me go!
SHE. (Waking, startled.) What is it? (Mother tiptoes off.)
HE. Please, no aaah!
SHE. What's wrong? (He wakes up.)
HE. Oh it's nothing. Just a recurrent dream I've had since I was a child.
SHE. What is it?
HE. It's nothing! (Brushes it off.) I'm being sucked through a tunnel and there's an octopus at one
end, and a train coming down the other. The train keeps getting closer and closer it's gaining speed
driving me straight into the arms of the goddamn octopus and I'm either going to be strangled to
death by the octopus, or crushed by the force of the oncoming train (With increasing horror.)
And then the octopus gets one slippery, hairy hand I guess you'd call it, on my neck. She's got
the other seven on a piano and, and she has long long elegant fingers which reach for octaves and
octaves, and she's playing the most beautiful song I've ever heard while gripping tighter and tighter
with that dark, slippery, hairy hand I guess you'd call it And then I wake up. (The music
stops. His tone changes completely. Shrugs; lightly.)
I don't know what it means. I guess I shouldn't eat sugar so late at night.
SHE. Have you ever had that feeling in a dream, like you're about to fall out of the bed?
HE. Sure. It means you're astral projecting, I have it all the time. That's great that you had that.
SHE. Thanks. (Putting her arms around him.) Poor baby, you had a real nightmare. Come here, let
me make it better.
HE. (Shrinking from her touch.) Uh, that's okay.
SHE. You don't want me to make it better? (He bolts out of bed.)
HE. Not now. I have to practice.
SHE. In the middle of the night?
HE. I'm a musician, I have to stay in shape! (He goes to his practice area, in front of the Japanese
screen, and starts to play scales. She listens, mesmerized.)
SHE. (To the audience.) My father used to listen to classical music all the time. He'd come home
from selling the Electrolux and go straight into the living room and put on "The Hungarian Rhapsody."
Wouldn't say a word. I used to lie on the linoleum and watch him listen. The music depressed the hell
out of me. I loved it. (The image of her father is projected on the screen which separates He and
She, and slowly focuses, the way it is with memory. The screen is on an angle, so that the audience
can see the image from one side of the screen, and She can see it from the other. Father is a sweet-
faced immigrant lying on a couch, eyes closed, the Magyarsag Weekly across his chest.)
He'd get up every morning and eat a Saltine with Velveeta and a Sanka but then he'd put on
Rimsky-Korsakov, or Prokofiev, or Stravinsky ballet music, "Firebird"! So I knew he wasn't the
chicken-livered sonofabitch desgraciado my mother said he was. (Convincing herself.)
So he forgot to say, "Good evening" and "Good morning" and "You're my princess," and
"Happy graduation" and "No matter what Mami says, I've always loved you." Everything he
wanted to say was right there in the music! Right there in those scratchless LPs in the milk crates
right under the picture of Eisenhower who was president when my father fled from Hungary to the
land of the free and the brave. (She gets up and tries to move beyond the image of her father, in an
effort to get to He.)
We didn't have to speak. I could dance for him. We didn't have to say a word. (As she gets to He,
She starts to lift her Mostly Mozart T-shirt. There is a sudden piercing "AY!" from backstage, a
blast of salsa music, something like La Lupe's "Yo Soy Como Soy," [See Special Note on Songs and
Recordings on copyright page.] and her mother, Mami, mambos on, right through the wall.)
MAMI. (Rapid-fire.) Oye, m'hija, que te pasa a ti? Pull your shirt down before you catch cold and I
got to slap your face. (To the slide.)
And you? What do you got to say, tu chicken-livered desgraciado? (Shrugs.)
Claro, nada (The slide disappears. The dialogue almost overlaps, no pauses.)
SHE. (In agony.) Ay, that music!
HE. (Thinking it's the scales.) I'm sorry, baby, is this bothering you?
SHE. No! MAMI. Si!
SHE. (To Mami.) What are you trying to do to me? (He comes out from behind the screen. Mami
dances her way in between them, so that She is talking and reacting to her mother, but because
Mami is her problem, and He doesn't see her He assumes She's talking to him.)
HE. I'm not doing anything to you. I'm doing what I need to do for myself.
MAMI. (To She.) You're crazy. Tu eres loca como esas chicas babosiando as en el Bellevue
(Mami continues on in Spanish about crazy young women who have to go to Bellevue.)
SHE. I'm not crazy!
MAMI. (Continuing.) Loquita, loquita, loquita
HE. (To She.) I didn't say you were crazy please, don't put words in my mouth
MAMI. (Continuing.) Que toman esas drogas que les hacen (Mami makes the face of a
drooling mental patient.)
SHE. All my life, that's all I ever heard. "You're too sensitive. You're crazy "
HE. You're not! MAMI. Let's mambo
SHE. I'm not crazy, and I don't want to mambo!
HE. (Confused.) I don't MAMI. (Sweetly.) Please
even know how
SHE. (Frustrated; to Mami.) You don't understand
HE. (Shaking his head, sadly.) You're not hearing me
MAMI. DO YOU LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER?
SHE. NO!
HE. (Soothing.) Okay MAMI. (Shrugging.) Okay
Okay
HE. (Gently.) Come here (She tries, but can't get by her mother.) You're like a delicate animal, a

MAMI. (Slapping her own arm.) Mosquito.

HE. Deer. You have the eyes of a
MAMI. Cow. Mooo!
HE. Doe.
SHE. I don't.
HE. Beautiful brown eyes.
MAMI. Cow eyes
HE. Doe eyes.
MAMI. 'Cause you don't sleep! You stay up all night making (Gesturing.) cuchee cuchee!
HE. Like a deer. Let's go back to bed. I want to hold you. Come. (He takes her hand and leads her to
the bed. The salsa starts to fade. Mami tries to get under the bed, but it's a futon and she can't
make it.)
MAMI. Que carajo cama es esta, coo! What kinda bed is this? (Gets up.) Ay, mierda! Adis! Shit.
(Mami leaves. She falls back on the bed, exhausted. He puts an arm around her. She leans her
head on his shoulder. There is a pause.)
SHE. I can't sleep.
HE. You need tryptophan.
SHE. I need a baseball bat. No one slept in my family. My mother read The Enquirer out loud to
practice her English. My father listened to LPs. They never said, "Go to sleep." How could they?
They couldn't set an example. They just roamed around all night long
HE. (Reminisces.) I loved my mother. She played the piano. She had long, long elegant fingers, that
reached for octaves and octaves
SHE. My mother wore high heels click clack, click clack.
HE. She wanted me to be the greatest bassoonist in the world. What did your mother want you to be?
SHE. Happy. Puerto Rican mothers are more demanding. (Pause; sighs.) She hung a velvet Jesus
over my bed with those blue eyes that follow wherever you go. And stigmata. (A slide of a velvet
Jesus appears over the bed, looking down on them, bleeding.)
HE. (Longing.) God, I love my mother.
SHE. (Longing too.) Yeah, I love my mother too.
HE. And I love my father too, he's just less there somehow in my mind. He's like this snapshot in
the doorway, "Dad Coming Home from the Office," with a big smile and his briefcase. (The slide of
his father appears, by Jesus.) And my mother was always inside. (A slide of an octopus appears
over the bed, on the other side of Jesus.)
SHE. (Frustrated.) I wanted to be closer to my father (She reaches towards the screen, where her
father's image reappears.)
HE. I guess I was just much closer to my mother. I guess that's why I like women so much
(Distracted.) Is that a roach on the ceiling?
SHE. You're not going to kill it, are you? I hate it when things die. (The image of her father
disappears.)
HE. (Tenderly.) I don't kill cockroaches. Ever. (She kisses him, passionately. The other slides
disappear. The lights fade, as they start to make love.)
SHE. There?
HE. Uh-huh
SHE. How's this ? (The bongos begin, softly.)
HE. That's good.
SHE. There?
HE. Oh, anywhere (Sound of bells, trailing off )
Scene 6

Art and Life

He breaks the kiss, takes a little space.
HE. (It occurs.) What do you do, anyway?
SHE. Well, I used to be a dancer. (A hit on the Japanese bass drum. She doesn't want to get into
it.)
HE. A dancer! Flamenco?
SHE. Ballet.
HE. Ballet! How long?
SHE. (Brushing it off.) Twenty-five years, six months, and three days. But I broke my foot. It's taking
a while to heal.
HE. How long?
SHE. About a year. Hopefully (Catches herself.) probably longer.
HE. That's way too much time. I broke my leg in ten places once. I was running in six weeks. I'll give
you the name of my doctor. (He goes to the bathroom for his Rolodex.)
SHE. That's okay.
HE. Listen, a bone that's been broken and mended is actually stronger than if it'd never been broken at
all. We're stronger at the broken places!
SHE. I'll keep it in mind.
HE. But you probably don't have much time (Regroups.) I mean you're probably very talented.
And you're probably in your (Studying her.) very early mid-thirties?
SHE. (Uneasy.) I have some time. I just don't want to spend it on point.
HE. I know a choreographer with the NYC Ballet.
SHE. I don't like New York.
HE. Don't you want to do it for your people? Be a famous Hispanic dancer?
SHE. (Wry.) Don't worry about my people they're fine. They made the cover of Time magazine. It's
"The Year of the Hispanic!" I don't have to worry about my people till next year. Besides, if I worry
about the Puerto Ricans, I have to spend equal time worrying about the Hungarians. I'd be oppressed
all the time
HE. But don't you want to SAY something?
SHE. If I want to say something, I'll talk to somebody.
HE. No, no, you don't get what I'm saying don't you want to SAY something?
SHE. What?
HE. (Thinking She didn't hear.) I said, "Don't you "
SHE. No, I heard what you said, I meant, "Say what?"
HE. I don't know. Communicate! Don't you want to say something to the world? (She thinks.)
SHE. Not right now.
HE. Well, that just breaks my heart.
SHE. (With difficulty.) Look. I can't dance now.
HE. Don't say that! (He kisses her foot.)
SHE. Oh please. Would you kiss something else? If people knew what dancers' feet looked like,
they'd never go to the ballet. They'd stay home and watch horror movies.
HE. (Passionately.) Fuck the bunions! You transcend the bunions, and the breaks, and your little
mangled toes and this (Notices.) weirdness with the arch and you fly! And that's ART.
Transcending your deformities. Let's dance. (He pulls her out of bed.)
SHE. I can't.
HE. Neither can I. (The musician drums a tango. As they start to dance, tango music begins. He's
awkward at first, but She's so good, it's as if He catches it. After a while, She spins away from him,
taken by the music, and dances alone. It's joyous, complicated, painful for her. She's a serious
dancer. Blackout.)

Scene 7
Her Past
When the lights come up, they are eating Sugar Frosted Flakes. He studies her through a
director's view finder.
HE. Tell me about your past.
SHE. Well, when I was very young I was married for a while.
HE. What was he like?
SHE. Very political.
HE. What happened? Political differences?
SHE. Sort of. He became a Black Muslim.
HE. Wow. Just like that?
SHE. Well, he was already black
HE. So what was the problem? I mean, you're half Hispanic, isn't that almost as bad?
SHE. What the hell do you mean, "bad?"
HE. I mean "bad" in the sense of "good." Wasn't it good that you had it bad too?
SHE. Not really. See, when you're only half Hispanic, not only do you have it only half as bad as
Hispanics, you also have it half as good as whites which really doesn't add up to having it "almost
as bad" to a Black Muslim. And by the time I figured this out, it was too late.
HE. How come?
SHE. He was dead.
HE. (Nods.) He crossed over.
SHE. Over where?
HE. Well, no one dies, per se
SHE. He did. On the way home from a demonstration.
HE. He gave up his physical body for something he believed in.
SHE. He was hit by a falling tree.
HE. Well, that's a very high death, too. The soul chooses to leave the body instantly. But the soul is
still there.
SHE. Where?
HE. (Panning with view finder.) Everywhere.
SHE. It doesn't join me at the movies or help me carry the groceries up the stairs
HE. But it's there all the same. (She regards him a moment.)
SHE. You ever been married?
HE. Uh, not in this lifetime. My soulmate hasn't appeared. So you think a man exists to carry your
groceries?
SHE. (Calmly.) And help me cut the vegetables, and share the meal, and make love with me after
dinner
HE. And what if he has other things to do? What if he has to fight oppression, say or direct a
feature film?
SHE. That's fine
HE. Oh, thank you very much! As long as he's home in time to carry the groceries!
SHE. (Simply.) As long as he's home before the tree falls.
HE. Okay. Fine. I have to go to the bathroom.
SHE. Okay (Halfway to the bathroom, He stops and does some yoga breathing exercises to calm
down. Then He turns to the audience.)
HE. I don't really have to go to the bathroom. I just said that to end the discussion. (To She.) Look, I'm
just going to work on my film for a little while. (To audience.) I don't like to argue. My film is about
love. (He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. She looks after him, perplexed. She looks at
the audience, worried. After a moment, She sniffs a few times, smelling trouble.)
Scene 8
The Tragic Love Affair of La Lola and Pipo Fuente
She smells something cooking. Mami enters, stirring a pot, rhythmically, like a drum.
SHE. What's cooking?
MAMI. (Enticingly.) Habichuela arroz con pollo and if you're good, you get a Hostess
snowball.
SHE. (Skeptical.) What do I have to do for the snowball?
MAMI. Just be a good girl and don't break your Mami's heart. That's all I'm asking. Here, eat. (Mami
hands her daughter the pot. She starts to eat.) Let's have some music! (A Latina torch singer like
La Lupe comes up, singing a tragic Spanish love song. Mami joins in for a few bars, then:) Ay,
pobrecita La Lola, that guy really did a lousy thing on her.
SHE. What guy?
MAMI. Pipo Fuente!
SHE. Pipo Fuente?
MAMI. Pipo Fuente! The greatest drummer in the world! The King of Latin Music! What a prick
(No pause.) how's the chicken?
SHE. Good. Okay, what'd he do, Mami?
MAMI. You don't want to know when you're eating.
SHE. Okay (The torch singer wails.)
MAMI. (Wails too.) He broke her heart! Like a chicken wing.
SHE. How do you know?
MAMI. It says so right in the song. (She looks skeptical.) Your Spanish is so lousy, you don't
understand love (Mami sings along with the song.) She was the best singer in all of Cuba and
you know I don't like to say nothing nice about the Cubans. Listen (She listens. The torch singer
sings.) Ay! So, Pipo Fuente hears her and he says, "I'm gonna put her in my band, the people will go
crazy I'll make a lot of money, and after the show we could do a little mambo up in my apartment,"
tu sabe.
SHE. It says all that in the song?
MAMI. Don't pick the peas out of your rice.
SHE. I don't like peas.
MAMI. I put the peas in there. What do I put the peas in for if you wanna take them out?
SHE. I don't know.
MAMI. Don't talk back.
SHE. So what happened to La Lola?
MAMI. Please, don't make me tell you.
SHE. Okay
MAMI. Every night he made her sing her heart out! And after the show he made her his (Darkly.)
esclava, tu sabe.
SHE. His slave!? What he beat her?
MAMI. She was a slave, tu sabe, in the night! A slave for love. (The singer wails.) See?
SHE. (Hooked now.) Yeah
MAMI. She couldn't eat nothing, she didn't care about nothing, she stopped dying her hair! And then!
He started to hit her with the bassoon.
SHE. I thought he played drums?
MAMI. (Quickly.) With the drumstick, si. I got confused. All she could sing was sad songs.
SHE. But why didn't she leave him?
MAMI. She was a SLAVE! I told you! He took her spirit. He had her doing it with the whole band!
She couldn't sleep because he was playing his bassoon all night long, and she was beginning to go
deaf! She couldn't hear a thing her mother was telling her. He and she was smoking marijuana all the
time, and she was staying in cheap hotels and eating lousy, and THEN !
SHE. (Completely sucked in now.) What?
MAMI. She finds out he's already married, he's got a whole family up in the Bronx And her mother
takes RAT POISON and commits suicide! (The music stops.)
SHE. No!
MAMI. (Crying out.) SHE DID! SHE DID! She ate rat poison, she was so ashamed.
SHE. Did Pipo Fuento go to the funeral? (Mami jumps up and pounds on the bathroom door.)
MAMI. I don't want him at my funeral! Lo odio! Es un desgraciado, coo, I hate his stinkin' guts!
Promise me he's not coming to my funeral
SHE. Mami
MAMI. (Dropping to her knees.) Promise me!
SHE. (Trying to lighten things up.) What do you think he's going to make me sleep with the
Philharmonic?
MAMI. (Crazed.) I don't like musicians! I don't trust them!
SHE. Okay, okay, he won't come to your funeral. (Mami reaches into her pot and takes out a
wishbone, suddenly calm.)
MAMI. (Smiles sweetly.) Here. I save the wishbone for you. I don't like this guy. Wish for a new one.
You choose the side. (She looks at the wishbone as though it were a hex, which it is.)
SHE. (Tentative.) What should I wish for? A lawyer?
MAMI. I don't trust lawyers. They push you in a hole in the street so they can sue the city. Choose!
SHE. (Scared.) A doctor?
MAMI. I got a friend went to a doctor she died. Choose!
SHE. An architect?
MAMI. I know a lady married an architect he fell off the roof and he died. (With great concern.)
You don't want another husband that's gonna die, m'hija. (Offering the bone again.) Here. Just wish
for a good man. (She chooses and gets the short end of the bone. There's a hit on the bass drum.
Sadly, but wisely.) Asi es la vida, m'hija. That's life (Mami leaves, with her pot. She stands there
holding the wishbone, trembling. Finally, She goes to the bathroom and knocks lightly on the door,
causing the lights to come up on the bathroom. He is sitting on the top of the toilet seat, writing
furiously on a yellow pad, surrounded by a sea of yellow pads.)
HE. (Cheerfully.) I'll be right with you, baby. (He writes one more sentence, puts down his pad, and
opens the door. He's happy with his work and glad to see her.) Hi!
SHE. I've got to go.
HE. But I have an hour before I can practice again, I thought we'd make love.
SHE. I can't. I have to (Remembering.) I'm not your esclava de I'm not your sex slave!
HE. (With childlike delight.) Oh, what a fine idea. How can I tie you to the futon? (Runs to the
closet.) Ties!
SHE. No!
HE. Don't worry about the feminist implications I'd be tying you up with the symbol of male
bondage.
SHE. No.
HE. We'll use my school tie from Groton. You can tie me up with the symbol of WASP repression.
SHE. No!
HE. (Hears her.) Oh I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun. You know I'd never hurt you. Did I kill
that cockroach? What did you think (Jokes.) I'd tie you down and beat you with my bassoon? Make
you sleep with the Philharmonic
SHE. No no, of course not. I just (Remembers the wishbone in her hand.) Where's the garbage
pail?
HE. I don't have one. I'll get you a paper bag.
SHE. (Proud.) That's okay, don't bother.
HE. It's no bother. I want to.
SHE. It's okay.
HE. Please. Let me. Let me do something for you. I'll get you a paper bag. Just give me a chance. (She
starts to gather her clothes.)
SHE. No! I, uh have to go. I (She flies into the bathroom. He starts to go after her but his
mother enters, dressed for the opera. She pulls him towards the bed.)
MOTHER. (Charming.) I'm just off to Gtterdmmerung, but first I'll tuck you in. (He looks towards
the bathroom.) Interesting girl
HE. Yes.
MOTHER. Puerto Rican?
HE. Half. (Mother snaps her fingers, and music comes up, "The Girl With the Flaxen Hair." [See
Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] Mother starts to pick up She's clothes,
chatting charmingly.)
MOTHER. We had a Puerto Rican maid once
HE. We did?
MOTHER. A colorful people
HE. Yeah
MOTHER. Rarely on time.
HE. Well, they have a different sense of time. They're very metaphysical. (Mother drops She's bra
over the Buddha.)
MOTHER. (Merely curious.) Then why do they have all those children? (Beat.) Of course, if you like
children (Casually.) I had a child
HE. I know.
MOTHER. Awfully fulfilling.
HE. I'm glad. (He gets up and starts to go to the bathroom.)
MOTHER. (Quickly.) If there's nothing else you have to do. Say, be a concert pianist
HE. (Stopping dead.) Or make a feature film (Mother brushes a speck of dirt from her long white
gloves.)
MOTHER. Messy business, children. (There is a pause. He's always wanted to ask:)
HE. But it's worth it isn't it, Mother? (Mother thinks for a moment. Then she opens her mouth,
and is just about to answer when She enters and starts to look for the rest of her things.)
SHE. Have you seen my
HE. (Distracted by Mother.) Over the Buddha. (Mother crosses to the bed, tucks the sheets in, and
picks up her evening coat. Lines almost overlap, as in the first scene with Mami. To both;
confused.) You're leaving?
MOTHER. Gtterdmmerung
SHE. (Overlapping.) I guess
HE. Please
SHE. (Hopefully.) Don't? (Mother cradles the bassoon.)
MOTHER. Don't forget to practice
HE. (Torn.) Maybe I should practice
SHE. Fine I'll get a cab.
HE. But I want you to (He starts to go to She. But Mother gets in his way.)
SHE. Stay?
MOTHER. (Overlapping "stay.") Stay! Spend the night! Have a couple of kids! Join the PTA and a
Twelve-Step Program!
HE. No! No! I want
MOTHER. To be the first bassoon in the WORLD!
HE. No, actually, what I really want is to make feature films
SHE. Fine!
MOTHER. FILMS!? FILMS!? (Laughing.) Your Polaroids are too dark! (Mother laughs darkly,
operatically. Both She and Mother put their coats on now. The scene speeds up, accelerando.)
HE. Don't laugh! Don't laugh at me! Please (To She.) Wait.
MOTHER. (A grunt.) Oh!
HE. (To She.) Stay.
MOTHER. Stay?
HE. (To Mother.) Go!
SHE. You're making me crazy!
HE. ("I love you.") You're making me crazy too.
MOTHER. (Knowingly.) She'll stay.
SHE. Yes!
HE. Yes! (They kiss passionately.)
MAMI. (Offstage, cries out.) Ay!
MOTHER. (Leaving.) Shit. (Blackout. Lights up right away. She's forgotten something. He's on his
way to the bed. She takes the wishbone from her pocket, runs to the audience, and hands it to
someone in the first row.)
SHE. Here. Take this. (Simply.) I like this guy, and I'd just like this relationship to work out before
the world ends. (She starts to go back to the bed, then:) Oh, if anyone else wants to go the bathroom,
now would be a good time. (Checks her watch.) But hurry! (Blackout. During the intermission, her
Human History Calendar is projected. And we hear more salsa numbers and tragic love songs.)
Scene 81/2
Intermezzo
She appears in his terry robe, her hair in a towel, and addresses the audience.
SHE. I made a list of the events of the last fifteen minutes for my calendar while I was in the
bathroom soaking my foot. (To a man.)
Please don't give me the name of your doctor. (She takes a roll of toilet paper from her pocket.
It's filled with notations. She begins to read, businesslike.)
While we were in the bathroom: Four point seven violent crimes were committed in New York
City. Two more species became endangered, an endangered one become extinct, and armies of Homo
Sapiens dropped bombs on one another, as the rest of the species watched on CNN. (Rolls down the
toilet paper.)
Brazil lost five hundred acres of rainforest, the Home Shopping Network sold sixty-two bracelets,
and three hundred people joined a chat room on how computers impede human contact. (Rolls down;
reads faster.)
As a nation, we drank four hundred-sixteen thousand cans of Diet Coke, Caffeine-Free Coke,
Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, and Coke Classic and threw one eighth of these out our car
windows onto the side of the road where they will last for five hundred years IF the world lasts
that long, which I don't think it will. (She blows her nose in the paper.)
I usually fill in my calendar while I soak my foot, so I can keep up. (Mami rushes on, in an
identical robe, her hair in a towel.)
MAMI. I'm going to say a prayer to St. Jude for your foot, so you could dance again.
SHE. (To audience.) The Patron Saint of Lost Causes.
MAMI. Ballet is the most beautiful thing in the world. Ballet is very classy. Do a little of that Sugar
Plum for them.
SHE. Not now, Mami.
MAMI. (Imploring sweetly.) For me
SHE. I can't dance right now, I'm trying to find love. No me jodes con el maldito Sugar Plum.
MAMI. You been sitting in that dirty apartment of yours for six months now, drawing pictures on the
wall. The landlord is gonna keep your security!
SHE. It was a false security. I'm out now! (She starts to go towards He.)
MAMI. His apartment is more dirty than yours! Es un horror! Una porcheri!
SHE. Eso no me importa!
MAMI. Wait! (Mami takes the short end of the wishbone from her pocket. Wags wishbone at the
audience.) Somebody left the wishbone out there in the bathroom. (Mami hands her daughter the
curse and leaves. She offers the wishbone to the Buddha. The lights come up on the bed, and we
begin the next scene.)
Scene 9
Marriage
Mother and He are in bed, asleep. We hear the gentle strains of "The Girl With the Flaxen Hair."
[See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] She gets into bed next to He and
goes to sleep. Mother starts to thrash and moan in her sleep.
MOTHER. No! No! Aaaaah! (She shields her breasts as if something were tearing at them.) Please
stop! No! (Mother begins to strangle He in her sleep, as He starts to thrash and moan in his.)
MOTHER. Stop! Please! HE. Stop! No! You're
Aaaah! strangling me!
(He throws Mother off the bed, and both wake up with a start. The music stops.)
HE. (Frightened.) What is it?
MOTHER. (Casually.) Oh it's nothing. You all right?
HE. (Casually.) Fine.
MOTHER. Just a recurrent HE. Just a recurrent dream
dream I've had for the I've had since childhood.
past thirty-five years.
HE. Yes? Tell me.
MOTHER. Oh, it's nothing. I'm playing the piano, and I start to get this awful ache in my tummy
(She is drawn to his practice chair as if in a dream.) Like when your father insisted we eat away
from the hotel on our honeymoon in Acapulco. ("The Girl With the Flaxen Hair" [See Special Note
on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] comes up as Mother starts to play.) I'm playing "The
Girl With the Flaxen Hair" which is what I used to have before I got married and it turned
dishwater and I have long, long, elegant fingers that reach for octaves and octaves! (He starts to
squirm. Joyously.) I'm taking my final audition for the Rochester Symphony when (Doubling
over.) Oh! The pain! Red and raging like
HE. A train?
MOTHER. Like the whole New York New Haven line driving down my gut. (She goes into labor,
but keeps playing.) And I keep playing and the Pain keeps coming faster and faster! And I keep
playing faster and faster to stop it and it's oh! (Gasps.) The Pain the piano the Pain the
piano (She starts to give birth.) Till finally this red slimy hairy bundle of Pain, I
guess you'd call it forces its way out of me and starts HOWLING at the top of its lungs! (Truly
anguished.) And I beg it to STOP, PLEASE! I can't hear the music! Stop howling at me stop
needing me! I can't hear the music at all anymore (Her eyes fill with tears.) But it won't stop. And
I never hear the music again. (A pause. Her tone changes completely. Shrugs; lightly.) I don't know
what it means
HE. (Pained.) Maybe you shouldn't eat sugar so late at night. (Mother gets up and kisses him on the
forehead.)
MOTHER. Well, good night, dear. Sleep well. (She exits. He takes a mouthful of Sugar Frosted
Flakes, and tries to go back to sleep. After a few beats of silence, an alarm clock rings, and She
taps him lightly.)
SHE. (Tentatively.) Uhm, we've known each other about seven hours now with the way the
world's speeding up, about six and a half years so, I was wondering don't you think it's time we
talked about marriage? (A hit on the bass drum. He bolts straight up in bed and stares at her.)
HE. You know (Distracted.) You have a beauty mark next to your eye! I never noticed that before.
Did you know that in ancient Egypt that was considered the mark of a witch?
SHE. I didn't know that. (He nods.)
HE. God, the Middle East. I don't usually watch TV but I rented Metropolis the other night so I
could watch it with the sound off and try it with the new Deutsche Grammaphon Gtterdmmerung
And I flipped past CNN (Getting out of bed.) And they had pictures of all these married
(Corrects himself.) MANGLED bodies, men and women bleeding all over the ground, and I mean,
it's the same thing, isn't it? Time after time. The Trojan War, the Pelopennesian War, the War of the
Roses the French-Indian War, the Spanish-American War People just can't get along!
SHE. What are you talking about?
HE. World War I, World War II, the Franco-Prussian War
SHE. Could we please talk about something besides
HE. Bosnia, Desert Storm And it's always the same stuff. Religion and property. Property and
religion. "My God." "No, MY God." "This is my fertile valley." "No, it's MY fertile valley!" "No, it's
not!" People should just let each other worship whatever the hell they want, and you till the valley
when you till the valley, and I'll till it when I have time, and not fuck everything up by getting married.
(He flops down on the bed, his back to her.)
SHE. (After a beat.) I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying that marriage is the reason we have
war?
HE. Of course not. I'm not saying that at all. Don't put words in my mouth. Please. I hate that. Look
I'll be right back. (He gets up.)
SHE. Look, we don't have to talk about it if you
HE. Who said I don't want to talk about it?
SHE. Well, you're walking away
HE. I'm going to the bathroom! Can I go to the bathroom? Or do I have to raise my hand and say, "May
I?" (Heading for the bathroom.) Jesus Christ, I need permission to take a piss now, I don't believe
this! (Mother enters from the bathroom.)
MOTHER. Let me help you, darling
HE. GET OUT OF MY WAY! (He goes into the bathroom and slams the door. She pours some
Frosted Flakes down her throat and pulls the covers over her head. Mother paces just outside the
bathroom door. The lights fade on the bed, as a snapshot of his father is projected on the Japanese
screen. It's "Dad Coming Home from the Office" with a big smile and his briefcase. A melodrama
begins between Mother and the slide.)
FATHER. (A voice.) I want you to tell him to come out of that bathroom and get married.
MOTHER. (To the slide.) He's too young to get married.
FATHER. He's not a prodigy anymore!
MOTHER. He's still a genius. (He flushes the toilet to drown them out. We hear a flourish on the
piano, and the discussion moves to another level opera. Singing.) I want symphonies!
FATHER. (Singing.) I want grandchildren! (They continue to sing.)
MOTHER. Who's Who in Music!
FATHER. Pitter patter o' little feet
MOTHER. Recordings and broadcasts, an occasional box seat!
FATHER. Coney Island and baseball, the circus, the zoo, things he was too busy to do with me!
Things I was too busy to do
MOTHER. (Recitativo.) OH YEAH? And what about what GOD wants?
FATHER. (Recitativo.) God wants him to take a healthy interest in baseball, too.
MOTHER. God wants him to be like you!?
FATHER. God wants him to get out of the bathroom!
MOTHER. It's MY bathroom, too
FATHER. Who pays the rent on that bathroom, you?
MOTHER. I could have had two bathrooms! Could have had two
FATHER. Could have had two?
MOTHER. If I'd never given up a major concert career to marry you!
FATHER. (Staccato.) What-else-is-new!?
MOTHER. (A grand finish.) Adieu! Fuck you! Adieu! Fuck you! Aaaa (High C.) dieu! (Mother
exits. He peeks out of the bathroom to make sure she's gone. Then He emerges from the bathroom
and comes face to face with the image of his father. The tone of the scene changes. Their
conversation is simple and real.)
HE. (Tentative.) Hi.
FATHER. (Awkward.) How you doing?
HE. Fine. (Pause.) How's business?
FATHER. Business is good. (A long and awkward pause. They would like to talk more than
anything in the world, but:)
HE. Well, I guess I better practice
FATHER. I'm just going to wash my hands and get back to the office. (Pause.) See you at dinner?
HE. Sure. (The image flies into the bathroom and disappears. He goes to his practice area and
takes the bassoon from its case. She calls from the bed.)
SHE. You okay?
HE. Fine, baby, fine.
SHE. Are you still in the bathroom?
HE. No, I'm going to practice for a while.
SHE. You are?
HE. Yes. (He is about to put the horn to his lips. He changes his mind and goes to a man in the
audience.)
Who was the most popular guy in your high school class? (If the man does not answer right away,
He can improvise, "What was his name?" If the name given is not credible, He can just say "Uh-
huh" or "Thanks" and ask someone else. When He gets the name, He repeats it and moves on to a
second person.)
Who was the most popular guy in your class? (He repeats the name He's given and moves on to
someone else.)
What guy was voted "Most Likely to Succeed?" (When He has that name, He repeats all three
names, and adds:)
I never heard of any of these guys. (He gets the chair He uses for practice, and sits, still holding
the bassoon.)
When I was growing up, I practiced the horn four to six hours a day. You can't practice more than
three hours straight because your mouth gets too tired, so I'd go to school for a couple of hours, and
then get back to my horn. If every kid who had crazy parents played the bassoon, the psychiatrists in
this country would go out of business. You can't hear your parents tearing each other to pieces while
you're practicing the bassoon. You want your kid to be well-adjusted? Buy him a bassoon. (He plays
a sultry phrase.)
The bassoon makes you sexy. Any of you women ever slept with a professional bassoonist? I've
been playing since I was ten, minimum three hours a day, seven days a week for the past twenty-five
years. Ladies, I have spent over thirty-seven thousand, two hundred and sixty-five hours working the
muscles of my mouth. (Sincerely.)
Sometimes I hesitate to sleep with a woman because I don't want to give her an experience she'll
spend the rest of her life trying to recreate. (Pause.)
But the truth is no one wants you to play the bassoon. It drives people crazy! Not the sound of
your practicing though they'll tell you it's the sound every time it's the ATTENTION. It reminds
people how hard they're NOT paying attention to their own dreams. Every scale drives it home.
People hate you for it. (He addresses the audience member who gave him the first name.)
Ever hear of Billy Folger? "Most Likely to Succeed," Fairmont High, class of '78? (Billy Folger's
yearbook picture is projected on the back wall. To the audience in general.)
Russel Hodges? (Russel's picture is projected next to Billy's.)
Most popular kid in the school. Chris Veronico? (Chris's mug appears next to Russel's.)
Everybody was scared to death of the guy. Trays shook when he entered the cafeteria. Milk
stopped, mid-straw. You never heard of him? (He gets up.)
These were the guys who called me an asshole for spending so much time with the horn a jerk, a
freak, a strombol, a putz, a weirdo, a nerd, a buffoon, a case, a queer, a faggot. What are these guys
doing now? Okay, so there's only so many chairs in the Philharmonic. But not ONE of these guys has
made a feature film. Not one of them. (He starts to go to the bathroom, then turns, and adds:)
All of these guys are married. (The yearbook pictures disappear. He goes into the bathroom.)
Scene 10
Soulmates?
She is asleep in bed, dreaming. We see images from her dream in a series of slides.
Slide 1. She, as a twelfth-century geisha, is dancing for He, a Japanese warrior.
Slide 2. The geisha pours tea for the warrior, who is kneeling on a futon.
Slide 3. The warrior and the geisha are being married by a Priest with the face of She's father.
Slide 4. The same shot, but wider, revealing another warrior behind She, wielding a saber
Mami. And the saber is the one that hangs over the futon in the present.
She murmurs in her sleep in horror, in Japanese, as Mami enters through the wall.
MAMI. Ven, m'hija, he ain't gonna marry you, wake up. (She murmurs "leave me alone" in
Japanese.) Que carajo language is that Dominican? Muvete ese culito, wake up.
SHE. Oh Mami, I had the strangest dream.
MAMI. No sex talk. No quiero hablar del sexo, m'entendes?
SHE. This isn't about sex.
MAMI. (Sitting.) Okay.
SHE. I dreamed I knew him before.
MAMI. From where? High school?
SHE. Before high school
MAMI. He went to the PS 22?
SHE. Before PS 22
MAMI. There was no before PS 22. Que tu piensas? You think we had Head Start? You think we
even had day care? I stayed home with you, and when your maldito father came home, I went to work
in the brassiere factory to put the formula in your screaming little mouth.
SHE. This was before formula, Mami
MAMI. Where did you meet this guy? Where?
SHE. Japan.
MAMI. You was in Japan?
SHE. In the thirteenth century.
MAMI. Aydame, Santa Juda! I got to get you out of here. I seen it in the movies. They put you to
sleep and then they make you do whatever they want.
SHE. I did whatever he wanted. I was his geisha.
MAMI. What's Geisha?
SHE. It's like a courtesan.
MAMI. Speak English, por dis.
SHE. (Simply.) It's like a whore.
MAMI. Shut your mouth! Tu eres la puta de ese maricn, carajo? Tu eres su esclava de sexo!
SHE. No, no, I was his sex slave. Then. There probably weren't a lot of options
MAMI. My daughter!?
SHE. I don't think I was your daughter then.
MAMI. No?
SHE. I was your wife. (A hit on the bass drum. Mami is silent for one second. Then she starts to
drag She out of the bed.)
MAMI. That's it. Let's go. Put your clothes on.
SHE. (A revelation.) That's why you're so angry, Mami not because I was his geisha because I
was your wife! All these years, I thought you didn't want me to be happy (A joyous revelation.) It's
not that you don't want me to be happy you just don't want to share me with another man!
MAMI. I want you on the subway, por dis!
SHE. You think I belong with you, but in my soul I belong with him!
MAMI. You belong in the Bellevue, like your crazy father! (The slide of her father appears on the
Japanese screen, eyes closed, the Magyarsag Weekly across his chest.)
SHE. He's not crazy! (To the slide.) Tell her. Tell her, Papa
MAMI. So how come he don't say nothing?
SHE. He's embarrassed about his English.
MAMI. How come he don't talk Hungarian?
SHE. We don't understand Hungarian!
MAMI. Nobody understands Hungarian! Why don't he talk Spanish? (Railing at the audience.) Why
don't everybody talk Spanish?
SHE. How can anybody talk anything? You never shut up!
MAMI. (To the slide.) You hear how she talks to me!?
SHE. (Pleading with the slide.) Tell her, Papa
MAMI. (Railing at the slide.) Dile un poquito de respecto para su madre, dile tu tu,
desgraciado carajo, que te pasa? (To She.) See? Why don't he say nothing?
SHE. (Frightened.) He's thinking he's listening to the music (But Mami realizes, suddenly,
with horror:)
MAMI. No, m'hija he's dead!
SHE. (Unable to face it.) He's not dead. He's reading! (Mami looks around for He, in a panic.)
MAMI. Where's the other guy? The musician
SHE. (Catching Mami's panic.) In the bathroom, playing scales
MAMI. Where's the other one the Muslim?
SHE. He's (She stands on the bed, grabs the saber from the wall, and wields it at her mother.
Mami crosses herself and starts to say a "Hail Mary" in Spanish.) Oh why don't you leave us in
peace!? Just this one nighttime (Mami looks at the saber, crushed.)
MAMI. (With all her heart.) I just want you to be happy, m'hija. They die It hurts
SHE. Right, and the world could end tomorrow, so
MAMI. Si! (Sadly.) As es la vida. That's life! (She slowly puts down the saber.)
SHE. (Softly.) So what should I wish for? (Mami thinks hard. Finally, Mami shrugs, at a complete
loss. And then Mami leaves. She goes to the bathroom door and knocks. He is playing scales on the
bassoon. Determined.) I want to tell you something (He comes out of the bathroom, intrigued.)
HE. What, baby, what?
SHE. I dreamed I was your geisha.
HE. (Laughs.) Well, that's impossible. I was a geisha myself. I'm sure I told you about that lifetime.
Unless
SHE. What?
HE. Unless we were soulmates
SHE. You think we could be soulmates?
HE. Well, uh not soulmates. We could be "twin flames." Soulmates come from one breath. Twin
flames complete each other. Like Lucy and Desi.
SHE. Lucy and Desi aren't even soulmates?
HE. Unh-unh. Bruce and Demi are, they're the same. Bill and Hillary are twin flames.
SHE. Bruce and Demi are soulmates, and we're not? Get real.
HE. What can I tell you?
SHE. But why?
HE. Because for one thing, if we came from one breath you wouldn't use it up arguing with me.
Nelson and Winnie are soulmates Sean and Madonna
SHE. But they're divorced!
HE. So? You think divorce means anything to the cosmos? (He heads for the kitchen area, and starts
to make tea.) They're soulmates, goddammit, they're stuck with each other. They can get the most
expensive divorce lawyers in the world Sean and Madonna are going to be married forever
FOREVER do you understand?
SHE. "Forever!?" "Forever!?" I thought forever was "obsolete"?
HE. (To the audience.) Oh, I hate that. You confide in somebody, and they remember every little
word you say not because they're interested, not because it's important to them just so they can
throw it back at you later in an argument. You want to be my soulmate? You'd be throwing stuff back
at me I said CENTURIES ago! That's why marriage is such a farce. We get up there like the two on
the cake, all serious and outrageously dressed and we say our mumbo jumbo lift the veil, kiss
the virgin, go to Acapulco, get diarrhea and then come back and tear each other to pieces for
twenty or thirty years! (No pause; incredulous.) And then, all of a sudden my mother wants a
divorce! She "wants her life back," she wants to learn tennis and start all over! My father calls me
once a week and CRIES! A man I never had a conversation with in my life he calls a total stranger
and cries. (To the heavens.) Are they crying up there? They're laughing at us, we're a joke! (There is
a long pause. She doesn't know quite what to say.)
SHE. Well. It was just a dream. I don't know what it means. Maybe I shouldn't eat sugar so late at
night. (Gets up.) You know, maybe my mother was right. Maybe I should get dressed. (He goes to
her.)
HE. Wait! Please. Look maybe we are soulmates. Maybe we'll be together for lifetimes, I don't
know. We won't know till we're dead. So why don't we just (Searches.) have some tea. (He goes
to the futon, kneels, and pours her tea, as Slide 2 from her dream is projected, briefly, like a
flashback: She, the geisha, is handing He, the warrior, tea the reverse image of the present.
Sound of South American flute. She looks at the tea but doesn't drink it.)
SHE. I think I'll watch the city for a while. (She goes to the window, as ancient Japan is replaced by
a slide of the Upper West Side.)
Scene 11
Art and Life Revisited
We see a slide of Upper Broadway, featuring the Papaya King, hot dogs, and tropical drinks. The
neon light from the sign, pink and gold, is reflected on She, as She watches the city. He watches
her watching for a while.
HE. (Fascinated.) You're just going to look out the window?
SHE. Yeah (Pause.)
HE. For how long?
SHE. I don't know.
HE. Okay (He grows restless watching her and gets up and stands behind her at the window. He
puts an arm around her, trying to share her experience. Then He frames a shot of the city with his
hands. Then the silence and lack of activity become unbearable.) You know, maybe you'd feel
better if you did some plis or something. Do you want to do some plis?
SHE. I don't think so.
HE. You sure?
SHE. (Looking out.) You know, when I was a kid, I used to spend hours at the ballet barre just a
couple of blocks from here. (She points. He follows with his eyes.)
HE. Yeah? (She keeps looking out.)
SHE. There was a window that looked out on Broadway, and I'd see kids running up and down the
street, chasing each other in and out of the ice cream store. And I'd pli look back down the line of
dancers to the teacher with her disappointment and her black cane pli, cop a glance at the street
pli, look back at the dancers little girls with their feet bound in toe shoes, little girls who
never ate ice cream or never kept it down little girls with their hair all strangled in a bun
little girls defying gravity.
HE. (In awe.) God, that always amazes me.
SHE. (With irony.) Yeah. And then we had to move away from the barre we had to move away
from the window! to do our turns. That's how you turn, you know, you keep your balance by fixing
your eye on an imaginary spot on the wall. You can't be copping glances at the street and expect to fly

HE. You keep your eye on the spot.

SHE. Yeah. (Pause; with difficulty.) They told me I was good. And when I was twelve or thirteen,
they told me I had maybe twenty years to dance And they gave me scholarships, and I spent more
time at the barre And my mother hung up my toe shoes next to the statue of Jesus on the cross with
the red hair and the little drops of red coming out of his hands (Laughs/cries.) so what was I gonna
do? Complain about my ugly feet? (With sadness and relief.) I broke my foot when I was thirty-three.
HE. How?
SHE. Running out of the theatre for a cab. Pothole. (The scene starts to speed up, accelerando.)
HE. God. Did you sue the city?
SHE. Someone else was running for the cab too
HE. And he pushed you!? Did you sue?
SHE. He was at the ballet on the Board of Directors he gave me some money I got an
apartment downtown.
HE. You were ?
SHE. Uptown with my mother. She'd injured herself on the casket at my father's funeral
HE. How?
SHE. She was trying to get her ring back, and the lid fell on her hand. She makes brassieres, she
couldn't sew
HE. And you couldn't dance!? What did you do?
SHE. I started a calendar.
HE. (Pitying.) You couldn't work
SHE. (Thrilled.) No! I'd been at the barre since I was eight! I'd been to the beach five times by the
time I was thirty-three. I mean, I was married for a couple of months, but
HE. Jesus. Potholes, sewing machines, falling trees
SHE. (Laughs.) As es la vida
HE. What's that?
SHE. "That's life!" See I thought it was a curse but now I get to walk around! (Beat;
vulnerable.) You want to take a walk with me?
HE. In NEW YORK? In the middle of the night?
SHE. (Shrugs.) My father died on the couch. My husband was hit by an oak
HE. No, no, it's not that, baby
SHE. The world could end tomorrow or we could catch the sunrise
HE. (Panics.) Or I could do some WORK! (He starts to go to the bathroom, but changes his mind
midway. A loving concession.) You know what? I'll work over here. (He goes to the futon and starts
to write on a yellow pad. She is left with the audience and turns to them for help.)
SHE. (To the audience.) Look. What's important, what do you think? What if my mother's right, and
Pipo Fuente did make La Lola cry? He's still a great musician, right? (Thinks of another example.)
Or What if a couple of horses get killed making a film which shows, once and for all, the
horrors of war? (Thinks.)
Or Say I fall down and have an epileptic fit right now, and I'm just about to swallow my tongue
when he suddenly hears the perfect theme for the film those few precious notes that could go
straight to the heart of the audience, not just here in America, but foreign markets as well should he
step over my writhing body to get to a pen? (Pause.)
I know. I know it shouldn't come to that, but it does. At some point, he's in post-production and
She's in labor, the lab's late and the kid's early where's he gonna tell the cabbie to go? Oh, hell,
let's just vote on it once and for all. What is more important, art or life? Please, raise your hands, I
have to know. How many for art? (A few people will probably raise their hands. She can also ad lib,
without irony, "You back there, in black, with the smoker's cough, don't you want to raise your
hand?" She counts the votes and continues.)
How many for life? (She counts the hands.)
Thank you. Let's see what he says. (She turns, but before She can speak, He puts down his pen
and addresses both She and the audience.)
HE. (Shrugs.) It's a stupid vote. How many people are going to raise their hands and say art's more
important? It wouldn't be nice (Comes down to the audience.) Look, I've never heard of Pipo
Fuente, but what if Beethoven, instead of leaving his chamber pot under the piano, and his scores
all over the kitchen what if he tried to tidy up and lead a normal life? Would we have the
"Emporer Concerto"? If Picasso had been well adjusted, do you think we'd have Cubism? If
Michaelangelo had got married at twenty-three, would he have DONE the David at twenty-four or
would he have been too busy REdoing the DEN? You know who should get married? Dictators. If
Hitler had gotten married, it would've cooled him out.
SHE. Who's talking about marriage?
HE. I I was illustrating a point.
SHE. I was talking about a walk!
HE. What FOR!? I'm a musician I can FEEL what's going on out there. The city was in four-four
time last year, well it's in TWO-four now. Twice as many beggars per city block as last year, and the
rest of us moving twice as fast to avoid them. We hate them! It's like a bad opera out there and
who knows if anybody's up there conducting! And you want me to take a WALK?
SHE. Take a walk with me, yes! (He pulls her to the window.)
HE. With you!? You're a dancer! You could defy gravity! You could defy the pavement, and the
garbage, and the dirty law that binds us to this city and this planet and leap up and spin in the lousy
polluted air in spite of it! But, no, you want to put on a pair of Reeboks and walk around!
SHE. Yes. I don't want to defy gravity anymore. I don't want the world to be something I pass through
on the way to the theatre. Even if it's ugly, and it's ending, I don't want to catch it from a window
(Pause.) And I don't want to be out there alone. (Notices.) C'mon, it's snowing the city will be
white and clean for fifteen minutes. It's New Year's. Maybe everything will seem new.
HE. (Desperately.) Baby I don't have time! (Points to the audience.) Look, they can't listen to the
Philharmonic anymore. It's too slow for them. I'm sitting there counting bars for twenty minutes till my
entrance, which they won't even HEAR, because they're counting the minutes till intermission so they
can check their machines! They want action quick cuts pictures. Time's "precious" time's
"fleeting" it's speeding up like a motherfucker ACCELERANDO!
SHE. Yes!
HE. I can't defy that.
SHE. (Agreeing passionately.) No!
HE. What can I do!?
SHE. (Nods, agreeing.) There's only one thing worth spending our time on
HE. (Nods.) I HAVE TO MAKE MOVIES, I HAVE TO! (This wasn't what she expected. There is a
pause. Finally she asks:)
SHE. What's the movie about?
HE. It's about love.
SHE. But what's it about?
HE. It's about two people trying to find love on the Upper West Side of a dying city in a declining
country in a hopeless world.
SHE. (Simply, a real question.) How do you know about love? (He goes to her, in a rush of
feeling.)
HE. Well because I love you! I love the way you move like a sonata. I love the way your mind
moves like some crazy kite (Holding her.) I've loved you all night long. And yes, while I'm
loving you I'm filming loving you. Not just here (Touches his eyes.) But here (Touches his
heart.) So maybe some guy in Omaha, or hopefully even China, will go home after my movie, and
maybe he'll hold his wife a little closer, love her a little better
SHE. (Startled.) You're trying to create more love?
HE. Exactly! And because I want to create all that love, I just can't stay up all night long loving you. I
just can't. (He is poking a hole in her whole damn theory, the impetus for this whole nighttime.)
SHE. Because we can create more love through the (Incredulous.) through the movies?
HE. Through our work whatever it is! Look at history, what makes history, art or life? What makes
history?
SHE. Uh (Remembering her calendar.) Shakespeare, Bach, Cortes, Hitler, Michelangelo, Fats
Domino, the Taj Mahal, the theme park
HE. Bergman, Truffaut, maybe Spielberg exactly! (A pause.)
SHE. (Sadly.) I see. (Moves to the window.) And those beggars out there on Broadway, the ones we
hate so much but want to love they're coming to your movie too?
HE. Do you think I'm naive? (Points to audience.) THEY'LL come to my movie. They'll feel all that
love And they'll give away some spare change on the way home. (She looks at the audience as if
to say, "You would?" Blackout.)
Scene 12
Decisions
He and She are asleep in the dark. His alarm sounds, "The Ride of the Valkyrie." [See Special
Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] The lights come up as He jumps out of bed to
stop the alarm, and the scene title is projected.
SHE. (Wakes up.) I'm exhausted.
HE. (Cheerful.) Have you seen my pants?
SHE. Over the Buddha. (He gets them.)
HE. I'm going to put in my lenses now.
SHE. Too bad.
HE. What?
SHE. Nothing.
HE. And them I'm going to do yoga. (He kisses her and goes into the bathroom. She sits up in bed.)
SHE. What should I do? Leave while he's putting in his lenses? Obviously I can't ask my mother
(An "AY!" from Mami, offstage.)
Or my father (His image flashes on the Japanese screen. She hesitates, then goes to the
audience. Urgently.)
Please. Forget that your husband, or your wife, or your lover is sitting next to you, watching how
you vote, waiting to use it against you later in an argument. You've seen our deepest, darkest,
priorities. What would you do? Stay or go? (The musician hits the bass drum decisively. She calls
out to him.)
Wait ! (She goes to a woman in the front row.)
Look, obviously he's all wrong for me but how long did you give the last guy who was
obviously all wrong for you? A night? A year? Ten? (To the audience in general.)
How long do you give a really impossible situation that could change? (Takes a breath.)
Stay or go? (A hit on the bass drum.)
Stay ? (She gestures for hands and counts. While she's counting, he pops his head out of the
bathroom.)
HE. I'm taking a shower now (Notices.) Oh sorry. (He ducks back into the bathroom.)
SHE. Go ? (She counts again.) Thank you. (She starts to get dressed. He enters.)
HE. (Surprised.) Where are you going?
SHE. For a walk.
HE. Oh (Glances out the window.) The snow. Yeah. And then?
SHE. I don't know. I just have to get moving.
HE. Well, can we have breakfast? Do you have to get moving right now? (Sound of restless rattles.)
SHE. I think so
HE. Okay. (Beat; hurt.) That's fine
SHE. Have you seen my other shoe? (It's under her nose. He hands it to her. They move around the
room, lost.)
HE. And you'll be back, what ? Later?
SHE. I don't know
HE. (Laughs.) Right, what's later? Couple of hours? Six months? Forever? (She smiles. Sound of
chimes.) Okay (Crushed.) That's fine. (Pause.) I guess there's no rush. I mean, we can always
(They stop moving around and face each other.) No breakfast?
SHE. I can't. (Drum sounds, lightly. The Mothers appear at either side of the bed. They fold their
arms and wait. The scene slows, so it feels like a long and difficult parting.)
HE. You know, I feel like (A phrase on the South American flute.)
SHE. (Hopeful.) What?
HE. I don't know
SHE. I feel that way too. I just
HE. What?
SHE. I just
HE. God, I just wish
SHE. (Softly.) What? (Sound of bells that just hangs there. She takes a few steps back from him.)
HE. I'll call you.
SHE. I'll call you too.
HE. ("I love you too.") Yeah, I'll call you too. (Sound of the taiko, but lightly. Mami crosses
herself, Mother silently applauds. The Mothers exit. And She exits too. He turns to the audience.
Wounded, appalled.) Voting on me while I'm in the bathroom!? Shit. (He goes to his practice area
and starts to play scales. The lights fade on him playing and come up on him playing and
fade on him playing to imply the passing of time. In despair, He puts down the bassoon and
rests his head in his hands. Mother tiptoes in with sheet music "The Girl With the Flaxen Hair."
[See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] She wipes his brow and hands him
the bassoon. He starts to play her music, resigned at first, then faster and faster, with increasing
anger. Mother turns the pages faster and faster, as it becomes a battle of wills. Finally, He gets
up, puts down the horn, crumples the music, and starts to stuff it down her throat, as we
Blackout.)
Accelerando

"Bolero" [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] begins, as the lights
come up on She, right, in front of the scrim.
SHE. I sent him my Human History In Twelve Months Calendar for inspiration. (Without irony.)
Maybe he could get his name up there somewhere between Shakespeare and the Bomb. Also, I had to
stop thinking about the world and concentrate on my foot. (Determined.) Because I was going on the
road. (A long horizontal calendar is projected on the scrim, like the one at the start of the play,
only this one will be filled with their personal histories. A primitive stick-figure drawing of She
appears in January, carrying a valise. He rushes on, still buttoning his shirt, and stands at the
opposite end of the stage from She.)
HE. (Still angry.) Voting on me while I'm in the bathroom Women. Who shot that bow and arrow
back in the dark ages of January, anyway? I did. A man. And who jam-packed December with
discoveries and revolutions and the telephone so you women could talk about me all day long? I did.
A man. Who decided this New Age would be "The Age of Women?" (Pounds his chest.) ECCE
HOMO. She left without even having breakfast. (Beat.) I was angry that whole winter. (A stick figure
of He, an angry cave man, appears in February, pursuing the stick figure of She.)
SHE. I started to dance. I wrote him postcards in case it was meant to be and I didn't expect
answers in case it wasn't. I got a job in a bus tour of West Side Story . (A snapshot of She appears in
March in a chorus line of period "Puerto Ricans." She's circled so we know which one She is.) I
didn't know if I was betraying my people by furthering a stereotype of Latin women or if I was
creating "more love." (Hopeful.) 'Cause, hey, maybe some guy in Omaha saw that Maria lost Tony
and life is short. And maybe he did go home and hold his wife a little closer, love her a little "better."
You never know. ("Bolero" [See Special Note on Songs and Recordings on copyright page.] is
building.)
HE. In the spring, they made me change the location of my film from the Upper West Side to Vietnam.
Nam was in, the Sixties was selling tickets The main characters got married during the Tet
Offensive. (A shot from the wedding scene appears in April. The bride and groom wear fatigues
and helmets. He continues, bewildered.) People are going to think I'm making some kind of statement
about marriage and war! I just wanted to do a film about love!
SHE. I just wanted to dance! Long as I kept moving, the world outside the bus window kept moving
too. (In awe.) The Midwest, it went on forever (In May, a picture of cornfields. In June,
cornfields too.) And maybe it always will. (In July, an endless winding road.)
HE. I kept getting her postcards from the road around the first of every month, and then, in late
summer, the damndest thing started to happen. The postmarks were pretty much the same, but the time
between them started to get longer and longer. Time just stretched out like a snake. I tried to kill it by
practicing I couldn't. I started dating. Each date took years. I was in post-production for a decade.
I played Wagner for a century. According to her damn calendar, I was depressed for eighteen hundred
years. (A picture of He, lying on the futon, stretches out over August, September, and October.)
SHE. I reached the ocean. (In November, a startling blue ocean, daunting and serene.)
HE. (Sheepish.) I took a walk in the park.
SHE. I watched the tide go out in the morning (Amazed.) and at night I watched it return. By the
grace of gravity. In its own sweet time. (Laughs.) And I thought, hey, even if I don't find love before
sunup is that the end of the world? (There is a pause.)
HE. I went to a party. (The calendar disappears.)
Coda
He and She have not moved. A slide is projected, evoking a New Year's Eve party. A romantic love
song, something like Linda Rondstadt's "My Old Flame." [See Special Note on Songs and
Recordings on copyright page.] They spot each other across the room and smile, surprised and
awkward. He takes a few steps towards her.
HE. Did you have a good year?
SHE. Oh yes.
HE. How was the road?
SHE. Long. Your film?
HE. In the can. Your foot?
SHE. It's fine.
HE. Stronger at the broken places?
SHE. Yeah. (They take a few steps towards each other. But, still, there is some space between them
which must be maintained for the rest of the scene.)
HE. (With difficulty.) You know nowhere in that calendar does it say, "He loved her and She
loved him, and they were happy." That event just never made the charts. (Fighting tears.) But if they
didn't and they weren't how the hell did they get up on a hot July morning and irrigate China?
SHE. (Smiles.) How do you lift stones for the Pyramids without knowing you're gonna go home and
somebody's gonna ask if you had a hard day? (They look at the audience, as if to ask "How?" They
look back at each other, but neither moves. Sound of bells trailing off Blackout.)

End of Play
 PROPERTY LIST

Coins
Box of sugar
View finder
Cooking pot
Wishbone
Yellow pad
Pen or pencil
Roll of toilet paper
Short end of wishbone
Teapot with tea
Teacups
Sheet music