A. SLATTERY: I’m watching you.
A. KINSELLA: (Laughing.)
A. SLATTERY: We decided it was time for bed; Alice had brought over her toothbrush and a nighty.
A. KINSELLA: A nighty!
A. SLATTERY: I remember thinking how sweet that was. We both got into bed and…
A. KINSELLA: And we lay there in the dark, for what felt like an eternity.
A. SLATTERY: I was shivering.
A. KINSELLA: I thought she was freezing.
A. SLATTERY: Nerves.
A. KINSELLA: Alice got a fit of the giggles.
A. SLATTERY: I couldn’t help it; I just kept thinking how funny it was, like in the greater scheme of things. Here I was ‘in bed’ with Alice Kinsella, and I loved her. Like ‘loved’ her loved her.
A. KINSELLA: That broke the ice, I kissed her and she stopped laughing. We stayed in bed for two days; we survived on cold quiche and coffee.
A. SLATTERY: It was fantastic…what were we so worried about?
A. KINSELLA: It was incredibly romantic.
Fade out chatter and laughter… ‘That wasn’t as bad as I had thought… Why did we put off that conversation for so long… Twice… Can I get the wine now boss…’
Marvin Gay fades back up and out.
The women put down their books/papers. Laughing at themselves, they share a glance. Look at the audience, they are both a little shy, but giddy.
A. SLATTERY: (Blushing.) Six months. It took us six months to work up to that conversation.
A. KINSELLA: It took a lot of convincing, and a lot of wine. We even had a toast around the table with a bottle of Blue Nun recording it. It’s still terrible stuff.
ALICE SLATTERY takes out a laundry basket, sits at the table and begins to fold the clothes, she folds a bra and this is ALICE KINSELLA’s cue.
A. KINSELLA: (Move to mark downstage right) Stage-two breast cancer. One modified radical mastectomy, one round of radiation therapy, three rounds of chemotherapy.
I don’t think I have ever heard more terrifying words. I still wake panicked from nightmares…the cancer is back and spreading, I think the fear must have breathing-room in my dreams…because I don’t feel it when I’m awake. I must suppress it.
I kept trying to figure out what I had done, what could I have done better, is there any way I could have avoided this? But in reality, this is what took my mother, so it was always a danger for me. I was totally numb, in shock I suppose, I felt nothing.
Alice felt it for both of us. I’ve never seen her so angry. She was mad at God, mad at the world, mad at me. She stopped going to mass and followed me from room to room, she watched me as if, at any moment, I would evaporate. I didn’t have the energy to tell her it would be OK, I didn’t have the energy for a brave face and hopeful lies.
One day I found her sitting on the bed, crying. She had just gotten off the phone with Mary and they were discussing my ‘affairs’. I was outraged, I shouted at her…
A. SLATTERY: ‘What are you doing that for? I’m not going anywhere.’
A. KINSELLA: At that very moment I knew I would be fine, I can’t describe how or why, I just knew.
I think we both felt the shift. We both cried, then we went out and had a celebratory bag of chips. I figured if I were fighting cancer then a single of chips wouldn’t kill me. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy, there were some awful days…
A. SLATTERY: Some awful days.
A. KINSELLA: …days when I could barely lift my head off the pillow, days when I just didn’t want to talk to anyone, days filled with anger, with ‘why mes’. Even now I find it hard to talk about, to think about. I was almost run over by a bus trying to make the lights on Parnell Street once, and I get the same feeling when I think about that.
A. SLATTERY: The ‘what could have happened’ panic.
I took Alice on a holiday when she was given the all clear, we went to Florida. Alice joked that that was where all the old people go, but I know she was excited.
We flew into Orlando International Airport and stayed in a posh hotel for three nights.
A. KINSELLA: We stayed in the Gaylord Palms Hotel! I laughed about that for the entire seven-hour flight. It was gorgeous and enormous. There was a massive indoor pond with alligators…real alligators. And a massive out-door pool…with no alligators obviously.
A. SLATTERY: Al wouldn’t swim… She said she wasn’t in the mood, that there was too much to see.
A. KINSELLA: We went to Sea World, I know it’s for kids… but I loved it. Dolphins, penguins, sharks, sea lions, killer whales, and horses. I don’t know why they have horses in Sea World. We reckon they’re secretly feeding them to the orcas.
A. SLATTERY: She hadn’t worn her swimming togs in public since her operation; I knew she was embarrassed and probably scared.
A. KINSELLA: We hired a car and headed for Boca Raton, we have friends who live there in a beautiful condominium. I’m still unclear as to the difference between an apartment and a condominium.
Anyway, theirs is a ‘condo’, apparently.
A. SLATTERY: We hired a car and headed for the Keys…
A. KINSELLA: I drove. We listened to Dusty Springfield on satellite radio.
A. SLATTERY: I don’t care for Dusty Springfield.
The scenery was stunning, turquoise water, small squat palm trees, big old oak trees with hanging Spanish moss swaying in the occasional breeze. History seemed palpable the further south we went, we left plastic Florida behind and entered quaint, still and stifling Florida. Tennessee Williams Florida. We ate key lime pie in Key West. Alice swears she saw Kelly McGillis in a restaurant.
A. KINSELLA: We stayed in a stunning guesthouse with a wooden veranda and overhead fans. We drank gin and tonic in rocking chairs and we met Kelly McGillis, the girl from that film, Top Gun, in a restaurant.
A. SLATTERY: I did not see Kelly McGillis.
A. KINSELLA: You did Alice, she was lovely.
They both fold a sheet together.
A. SLATTERY: Alice finally swam in the Gulf of Mexico. She was beautiful. The trip was wonderful; it was exactly what we needed. I think it took about five years off us…
A. KINSELLA: And put about five pounds on us!
A. SLATTERY: (Move to mark downstage left.)
It really got me thinking, about my life, my future. Seeing Alice sick, really sick, scared me, it shook me to my core, the fragility of life. The emphasis we place on stupid silly things.
We met Frank and Jim on a cruise years ago, two beautiful men. Jim was a florist and Frank imported and sold antiques. I always considered them ‘shiny’, they sparkled. We struck up a genuine and easy friendship that deepened over twenty years. We visited them in Berlin once a year, and they stayed with us in Dublin. We used to meet for weekends in London, have dinner in Kettner’s and see a show. They were full of fun, life, and extravagance, you were assured to drink too much and laugh too loud in their company. They died in an autobahn accident six years ago, wiped out in seconds. The paper reported…
A. KINSELLA has been putting the laundry basket away and moves back to her downstage right mark.
A. KINSELLA: ‘Two men, in their fifties, were killed in a road accident.’ That was it, no details.
They could have been strangers. When a husband and wife die you are immediately struck by the tragedy of the loss. A family lost. Their extended family and friends are interviewed in the paper, their funerals are covered on the news, their community grieves.
Frank and Jim were just ‘two men in their fifties’.
A. SLATTERY: There are no words to express the sadness. I was devastated, I still am. We put a dozen white roses on their grave every summer, they were Jim’s favourite.
What would happen if one of us died? We have no children, no legal binds between us, only a joint bank account and a co-owned house.
What would I do if I lost her? It took me so long to find her, it took me so long to realise I was looking for her. When she left for
London all those years ago, I cried for days, I felt a sadness beyond the measure of the situation. The night before she left we all gathered for a drink in town, Bowes, I think it was. She was excited and nervous. Her friends from home and the girls from the secretarial college were all in flying form. Her mammy had given her twenty pounds for London; my mother gave her a fiver, which was a lot of money back then. I gave her a card and a hug on Fleet Street that lasted just a second too long. I promised I’d keep in touch. I lost her once. I couldn’t lose her again.
We walked down Duval Street holding hands, that’s the main drag in Key West. It’s full of bars and restaurants that spill out onto the street, people eating al fresco and laughing over glasses of wine. Nobody gave us a second glance, except a young man with an arm full of tattoos who smiled at us. We walked away from the crowd and stood on this wooden walkway that overlooked the beach. We watched the sun set where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Gulf of Mexico. It was warm and still, almost dreamlike. I asked Alice to marry me. She said yes.
They move downstage centre, stand at the end of the table, and hold hands.
A. SLATTERY: We watched our first Gay Pride parade this year, under duress. I really didn’t want to but it was for the good of the show apparently.
A. KINSELLA: All the colour, the costumes, the noise.
A. SLATTERY: A young man at the parade called us cute, we were holding hands. I swung around and was just about to tell him: ‘I’m a grown woman, I’m not cute. Babies are cute, puppies are cute. I am not. Don’t patronize me you arrogant idiot,’ when I realised he was talking to his friend on the opposite footpath. I was mortified. He looked at me like I was mad. Alice thought it was hilarious. He wished me a happy pride. It was nice.
A. KINSELLA: There were all types of people there, young, old, gay, straight. With families and without. I realized that we all have a place, we all belong. We are all just people and we all just do our best. I’m sixty-four and I have a lot to learn.
A. SLATTERY: In making this show we have argued, cried, shouted, sulked, talked, remembered, smiled and laughed. We laughed a lot. Several times it begged the question, ‘what in God’s name are we doing this for?’ It took me a long time but I finally figured it out, I don’t want to hide anymore. I am proud of me, I am proud of us. We have been together for twenty-eight years. We plan to be married on our thirtieth anniversary, not a civil partnership, a marriage.
A. KINSELLA: We are here, we were here all along. Somebody has to do this, to stand up and be seen. We can’t, in good conscience, always leave it to others. So here we are, warts and all. We have lived, lived well; we have loved, loved well. Alice, will you dance?
A. SLATTERY: I will.
The music fades up, ‘Endless Love’ by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross. The lights dim and flicker off a rotating mirror ball and the ALICEs dance… They kiss as ‘my endless love’ is sung.
Lights fade up.
A. SLATTERY: Fun.
Exciting.
Challenging.
Insightful.
Triumphant.
Beautiful. A testimonial.
TOGETHER: We will be seen.
Slowly the wigs come off and the actors reveal themselves.
They will be seen.
THE BIG DEAL
EDITED BY
UNA MCKEVITT
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before commencement of rehearsal to the Author c/o Oberon Books Ltd. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained, and no alterations may be made in the title or the text of the play without the author’s prior written consent.
The Big Deal opened on the 10 August 2011 at Kilkenny Arts Festival, with a preview on 9 August. It was later performed at Project Arts Centre, Dublin, from 31 October–5 November 2011.
CATHY – Una Kavanagh
DEBORAH – Shania Williams
Directed by Una McKevitt
Lighting Design by Sinead Wallace
Production Manager: Conor Mullan
It received a work-in-progress performance on 8 and 9 December as part of Queer Notions, a festival of theatre and other performances, produced by thisispopbaby. On this occasion, the role of Deborah was performed by Niamh Shaw.
Scripted from original material provided by the contributors – including journals, poems, songs and interviews.
A long wide wooden bench is placed upstage centre right. At a short distance to the right of the bench is a mic stand. An actor on the bench can move to this mic easily in two short steps. Downstage left is another mic stand. Both mics frame the stage picture and the actors do not move beyond the circumference they mark. Above the bench is a vertical aluminium strip light and another perpendicular to this stage left. CATHY wears navy leggings, a long black lycra vest and over it a loose-fitting navy top with mid-length sleeves. DEBORAH wears khaki skinny jeans, a belt and a ladies vest top. Both are bare foot.
CATHY: I was at a wedding recently, and a woman asked me did I know where the happy couple were going on their honeymoon. I told her they were heading to the Caribbean and that the bride had a massage booked for every one of the ten days. This woman said, ‘Ugh, that’s horrible.’ ‘Horrible?’ The woman said, ‘Ugh, the thought of someone touching me like that every day. Horrible.’ And I said, ‘Like what? It’s a massage.’ And the woman said, ‘It’s unnatural. Ha! But look who I’m talking to.’
SCENE 1
The Runaways: ‘Cherry Bomb’.
DEBORAH: 1994.
The Evening Herald.
‘Men In Dresses’.
By Noreen Hegarty.
The atmosphere is a heady mix of subdued lighting, french perfume and cigarette smoke.
Deborah adjusts her short black lamé jacket and steps from one heeled foot to another. Her car, parked near the city centre club where she’s socialising with her friends, has just been broken into and she’s clearly upset.
It’s only when Deborah turns and speaks that you would really know – the voice is unmistakably that of a man.
CATHY: It is the night before my operation.
I am remarkably calm.
Shouldn’t I be doing something with my penis on his last night on earth?
He never did me any harm. In fact he worked rather well.
Shouldn’t I be having second thoughts, doubts – I was born a boy after all.
Of course that’s the whole point isn’t it? Was I?
DEBORAH: Ever since I was twelve, my dad and I have discussed everything. He always said I was to come to him with any problems I had and if I was to smoke, drink, do drugs or ‘go with girls’, I was to do it at home – in front of him and my mum. At seventeen I decided to talk to him about something that was bothering me for quite some time. I believed I was a girl but none of this made sense. How could I believe this, I was born a boy after all, wasn’t I?
So, I sat him down and told him, ‘I think I am a girl, Dad.’ He looked at me very calmly and said, ‘It’s just a phase you are going through, don’t worry about it. Go get a new girlfriend and on Sunday go out and kick someone around the football field. You’ll feel better and you’ll be fine.’ So on Sunday I did go out and kick some poor fool around the football field and a couple of weeks later got myself a new girlfriend. I tried to forget it, but it never went away.
Years later, when I told my Mum and Dad, my Dad was very quiet. He didn’t say anything, he just agreed with my Mum: they would get me cured. I wondered if he remembered our conversation all those years previously. Who was I going to kick this time?
Dear Cathy,
These journals are yours; write whatever you are feeling, whatever you are thinking. They will have no effect on my own position, nor do I think you are rubbing my nose in it. Darling, I have tried to explain that I am OK
with where I am in my life right now and I have struggled to get to this position. Like I said before, nothing is going to shake me off my path except me.
>
I suggested the journal, so later you can reflect on your experiences. These journals are not for criticism or explanation; they are how you are feeling right now. And that’s what’s important.
Love Deborah
CATHY: I was woken up at 6 a.m. for ‘nurses check-up time’.
Blood pressure, pulse, temperature.
I had to finish eating by 7 a.m., fasting until surgery at 2.30 p.m., but the toast was cold and I got no enjoyment from my last meal on Earth as a Man. – God, doesn’t that sound great. Now what else happened that day before they came for me. I did some Sudoku – watched some TV.
I played my iPod. Around 1 p.m. they gave me a sedative to make me drowsy. And then I was back in my bed – in pain –
very sleepy –
pain –
nurses check-up time –
pain –
and then it was Sunday Morning.
SCENE 2
The Runaways: ‘Blackmail (Intro)’.
DEBORAH: Cathy has been there for me quite a lot.
She knows what I’m talking about and I won’t go into that detail, it’s personal between me and her.
She’s helped me through a couple of rough patches with that.
CATHY: Dear Deborah,
– today is Day 2 after the operation and I’m a lot better but still very sore.
Being out here alone is not to be understated.
By and large I’m good. I walked around for the first time today and can now get out of bed. Everything I do is in slow motion. I can’t use my Cathy voice because my chest is so congested and this is really annoying me. I’m also wearing Patrick’s face, as I haven’t the energy yet for makeup.
Maybe tomorrow.
There is the problem of stitches where my adam’s apple was shaved. Also very disappointed with my hair – see no difference to the way I was wearing it as Patrick last week – I did get the breasts done.
Now I’m a 38C.
I get a warm feeling at the thought that I now have a vagina – albeit a painful one for the time being. I am a bit petrified at its unveiling on Thursday. I don’t have a good stomach for this sort of thing.
The Oberon Anthology of Contemporary Irish Plays Page 17
