by Paula Vogel
PETER: I’ve just noticed that you’re both doing it a lot more. Going into character. Now whenever I’m around those… “kids” are always with us.
RUTH: Well, Peter, you’re one of the family now. Isn’t that right, Anna?
ANNA: Honey—I think Peter has a point. We are doing the kids more often. All the time now.
PETER: Yes—it’s become an obsession.
RUTH: I wouldn’t call it that.
PETER: But you’re doing it all the time!
RUTH: So what!! And it’s not all the time. It’s just a way of releasing anxieties…
PETER: Don’t you think it would be better to address those anxieties directly?
RUTH: What the hell are you paying a hundred dollars an hour for?
PETER: I pay someone to listen to me. I don’t go around talking to myself in a high tiny voice…Cecil, the child genius. Henri, from that movie—
RUTH: The Red Balloon—
PETER: Whatever it was. And on top of it all, this wild child raised by a pack of dogs. I say they have to go.
RUTH/HENRI: And I say to you—you—you are a big, fat wee-wee head!
PETER (To Anna): You see? That’s just the kind of thing I’m talking about.
ANNA: Look, the three of us have to work this out like mature, rational adults—
RUTH/HENRI: Wee-wee head!!
ANNA: Ruth. Please.
(Shifts her weight) Ow. Damn. I don’t believe it. I have to go to the bathroom. Again.
(Anna gets up heavily to her feet; she is very pregnant. She exits. Pause.)
PETER: We have to remember that she’s peeing for two now.
(Suddenly Ruth becomes Henri again.)
RUTH/HENRI (With great significance): Uncle Peter? I loved the bedtime story you told me last night. You know.
PETER: Oh.
RUTH/HENRI: Will you tell us the same story…tonight? And sit on my bed?
PETER: Ruth, I’m really not in the mood right now to play—
RUTH/HENRI: Can I sit in your lap?
PETER: Well, I’d really rather that you wouldn’t—
(Ruth/Henri sits in Peter’s lap, wriggling suggestively.)
PETER: What in the hell are you doing?
RUTH/HENRI: I’m finding a comfortable spot.
(Henri laughs)
It’s so lumpy, Uncle Peter.
PETER: Ruth—get up—
RUTH/HENRI: But, Uncle Peter, don’t you like little boys?
PETER: Well, of course I—no! Not like that—come on, get up, Henri—
RUTH/HENRI: But first you have to…give me something…
(Anna comes into the room and sees Ruth in Peter’s lap. As soon as Ruth sees Anna, she jumps up as Henri and throws her arms around Anna.)
RUTH/HENRI: Anniah!
ANNA: Henri!! What were you doing to Uncle Peter?
RUTH/HENRI: Nothing.
ANNA: Were you bothering him again?
RUTH/HENRI: NO. I didn’t do nothing!
ANNA: Petey? Was Henri…bothering you again?
(Henri appeals to Peter silently.)
PETER: Ah…no.
ANNA: Okay. Because you know, Henri, that we had that talk about no g-r-o-p-i-n-g. Remember? Not even if Uncle Peter wants you to.
RUTH/HENRI: I would like to go to my room, please!
PETER: By all means, be our guest.
(Ruth makes sounds of an offended Henri leaving the room, and slamming the door. Pause. Anna sits. Pause.)
PETER: Look, maybe it’s me…But I just think that the…the line between reality and you know…well, it’s getting dangerously thin around here.
RUTH: We never do it out of the house. You know that.
PETER: That’s not the point. What about when the baby comes? What kind of effect is it going to have on Emma or Nathan—
RUTH: What do you mean, Emma or Nathan? We haven’t decided that yet. It might be Sigourney or Christopher—
ANNA: Oh, please, not this again. I don’t give a damn what it’s called. Just let it come out healthy.
RUTH/ORPHAN: I-I l-l-like th-the name Lassie.
ANNA: Yes, Orphan. That’s a sweet name. But that’s a name for a dog, honey.
RUTH/ORPHAN (Cooing agreement): Mmm-hmm.
ANNA: You want to name your baby sister in honor of the stray dogs of Port Authority who found you and took care of you?
RUTH/ORPHAN (Again, cooing): Mmm-hmm.
ANNA: Yes, sweetie, but we’re bringing up the baby differently than you were. Remember when we found you behind a Greyhound bus last winter? Running on all fours and scratching with your hind legs? Well, your sister’s going to have a much different upbringing than the dogs gave you.
PETER: That’s for sure. No fleas for little baby Emma. Or Nathan.
(Suddenly Ruth/Orphan leans over and bites Peter savagely.)
PETER: Ow!! Goddamn!—
ANNA: Orphan, no!! Bad Boy!! You don’t bite people! Now go to your room!!
PETER: Look at that! The skin is practically broken! Now they’re biting me!!
RUTH: A flesh wound.
PETER: You bit me!
RUTH: Not me. Orphan. He’s never going to break that habit.
PETER: I’m sitting here, bitten, and nobody cares! I’m trying to have a talk! I’m trying to take my responsibility seriously, like a grown man, and you two are—
ANNA/CECIL: Listen, Uncle Peter, calm down. You have to understand that you’re hyperventilating from a very common syndrome.
PETER: Oh, Jesus. Now I get counseling from a nine-year-old doctoral candidate—
ANNA/CECIL: Okay, buddy. But I’m here. I just want you to know that. When you’re having problems coping with those feelings of…of being extraneous in the face of—
ANNA AND RUTH: Woman Creating—
PETER: Shut the fuck up!!
(There is silence.)
ANNA/CECIL: Golly.
RUTH: Cecil, why don’t you go join your other brothers in the other room? I think “Sesame Street” is on.
CECIL: Do you think I’m a child?
(Noises of a wounded Cecil leaving the room. Pause.)
ANNA: Petey? Do you want to talk?
PETER: No! No…I’ve got to get out.
RUTH: Oh, come on, Peter. We were only playing around—
PETER: I’ve got to go. I’m late. I’ll…I’ll see you later.
(Peter storms out of the room. Pause. The women look at each other.)
RUTH: He’s got to learn how to relax.
Scene Two
Day One. Late that night. Anna sits at the table playing solitaire. There is a key in the door, and Peter enters, very softly, so as not to wake the women.
ANNA: Peter?
(Peter jumps. Looks very sheepish and somewhat guilty.)
PETER: Oh…Hi.
(Pause)
You didn’t have to wait up, you know.
ANNA: I didn’t. Ruthie got worried when you didn’t show for dinner.
PETER: Oh. Ah—I ate out.
ANNA (Looking at him carefully): Uh-huh.
(Laughs)
I’ll bet you did. Did you have a good time with the boys?
(Peter becomes beet red.)
PETER: Umm…well, not a bad time, you know…
ANNA: Promise me you’re being careful…
PETER: I’m being so careful.
ANNA: How’s your wound?—Are you still mad at us?
PETER: I wasn’t mad. Just…just concerned.
ANNA: It’s all going to work out fine.
PETER: I…have my doubts sometimes.
ANNA: Why?
PETER: Well, sometimes, with you and Ruth…I feel like I’m in the way.
ANNA: That’s nonsense. We don’t feel that way.
PETER: Maybe we made a mistake…threesomes never work.
ANNA: Now is not the time to get cold feet. You’ve been saying since college that you wanted to have a child…
PETER: I know, but—
ANNA
(In an intimate way): Wasn’t it fun?
PETER: It was pretty funny, too.
ANNA: Oh, but also romantic. No turkey baster for little Emma. The bottle of champagne from Ruth, that little inn—
PETER: The innkeeper thinking we were newlyweds—
ANNA: Our little plots…The Nubian boy spread on a Persian rug, the English schoolboy being disciplined—which was your favorite?
PETER: Well, personally I liked the one you told me about the young Greek sailor, swabbing the deck on his knees in the hot Mediterranean sun…
ANNA: Oh, yes, that one was good, too.
(Pause.)
PETER: Anna? I just wanted you to know…that the fantasies weren’t… necessary.
ANNA: Oh, Petey. How sweet.
PETER (Shyly): I just wanted you to know…I really miss breasts.
ANNA: Really? That must be awful…
(Anna looks down and strokes her breast.)
PETER: It’s so alien to me. That softness…
ANNA: Well, you know, Petey, whenever you get hit by the urge, you can always feel one…
PETER: Can I?
ANNA: Of course you can. Be my guest. Go ahead, it won’t bite you…
(Peter hesitantly puts out his hand to stroke Anna’s breast. Ruth, still half-asleep, enters in her pajamas.)
RUTH: Petey? Are you home? You okay?
PETER: Yes.
(He starts to remove his hand, but Anna holds it to her breast.)
RUTH: What are you two up to?
PETER: I’m, um, stroking Anna’s breast.
RUTH (Totally unconcerned): Oh. That’s nice.
ANNA: There’s room for one more here.
RUTH (Enthused): Okay.
(Ruth goes to Anna’s other side and gently puts her hand on Anna’s breast. Peter and Ruth look at each other. Ruth smiles. Anna smiles, and sighs.)
ANNA: Ahhh.
Scene Three
Day Two. Ruth and Peter in the kitchen. On the table is a large rubber tub filled with water, towels, a baby bottle, diapers and a life-sized doll. Ruth holds a baby-care book, from which she reads.
RUTH: Ready?
(Peter is rolling up his sleeves, and looking grim.)
PETER: Let’s go.
RUTH: Where do you want me to start from?
PETER: The beginning of the book!
RUTH: Okay.
(Reads) “Parenthood is many things to many people—a new beginning, a new definition of self, a challenge and a—”
PETER (Irritably): Oh, skip that crap!
RUTH: You said from the beginning.
(Pause)
You know, Petey, is this really necessary? When the baby comes home—
PETER: I asked you to help me!
RUTH: I’m helping, I’m helping…I just don’t think parenthood is something you bone up on from a book—
(Peter gives her a look.)
RUTH: Okay.
(Flips through the index)
How about starting with…let’s see—“Positions, comma, proper, comma, for carrying newborns”?
PETER: All right. Now we’re cooking with gas.
RUTH: Okay. Do you have Junior? Right. Page nineteen.
(Peter picks up the doll)
“It is important to carry the baby so that its neck is always supported. Do not touch the soft spot at the top of the baby’s head, and hold it in such a fashion so that your hand supports the weight of the head.”
(Peter tries to accomplish this, leaving the body dangling at a strange angle.)
PETER: Shit. That’s not right.
RUTH (Trying to continue with a straight face): “One hand should cushion the back of the baby’s head and the thumb and wrist of the adult will provide a bulwark for the infant’s neck…”
PETER: Christ! Can’t they write these things in plain English? Here—take this—let me see that book!
(Peter thrusts the doll at Ruth, while grabbing the book. Ruth tenderly takes the doll, demonstrates perfect carrying position and smiles at Peter.)
RUTH: You’re at a disadvantage. You never played with dolls.
PETER: Says you.
RUTH: Hold this thing. (Thrusts the doll at Peter) The right way.
(Peter holds the plastic doll like a pro.)
RUTH: That’s great, Peter!
PETER: You really think so?
RUTH: The Madonna herself couldn’t do better.
PETER (Pleased; with renewed confidence): Okay. Hit me with the hard stuff.
(Ruth flips to the back of the book again.)
RUTH: Okay. “Bathing, comma, newborns.”
PETER: I’m ready.
RUTH: Well, take its little tutu off first.
PETER: Oh. Right.
RUTH: Now then. “Nothing can be more slippery and capricious to hold then the newborn infant, soapy and wriggling like an eel on the proverbial hook—” (Stops)
What moron wrote this?
PETER: Come on.
RUTH: “The first bath is every parent’s nightmare. To avoid tragic consequences—” blah-dy, blah-dy, blah… “Carefully lower the child into the water, with one hand supporting the child’s—” blah, blah, blah. “With the other hand, wet the child’s—” blah, blah, blah…
Now comes the tricky part.
PETER: It’s all a matter of concentration.
RUTH (With increased sadism): “When removing the baby from the bath water, have a towel ready to wrap the infant’s tiny body in so that the child will not slip from your grasp, and possibly injure its delicate, tissue-thin membranes…”
(Peter begins to slip with the doll. We see him frantically grasp its little plastic parts to no avail. The doll eludes his hold, and crashes into the tub.)
PETER: AHH—AHH—Goddamn!!
(Beat. Ruth and Peter watch the doll float. They try to control themselves, but erupt in laughter. Peter holds the doll’s face underwater, then tosses the doll into the air.)
PETER: Thirsty? Glub, glub, glub, glub, glub…Good baby! Daddy’s baby! Baby go boom? Don’t Touch the Soft Spot!! Wheeee! Go to Ruthie—
(Peter tosses the doll to Ruth, who catches it. In a split second, we hear Henri’s maniacal giggle. Then before Peter can respond, Ruth calls:)
RUTH: Hut One and Hut Two!
(Peter and Ruth break out into football fantasy.)
PETER (Simultaneously with Ruth): Hike! He drops back to pass, he’s forced out, out of the pocket, he’s rolling to the right, reading the defense, now he’s scrambling, it looks like he’s going long! Yes! He’s going to throw the bomb—
RUTH (Simultaneously with Peter): Hike! She’s splitting the defense, she’s crossing into the flat, the crowd’s going wild, can you hear that excite—she fakes a move to the corner—penalty for traveling! She’s open and there’s—
(Peter tosses the baby doll across the room at Ruth just as Anna enters and catches the doll in surprise. Calmly Anna moves downstage with the baby; the other two are embarrassed. With motherly care, Anna sets the baby down on the table.)
Scene Four
Henri is in the kitchen, humming softly.
HENRI: And now pour le dejeuner. A little poisson? Or peut-etre—a little poulet—cordon bleu? Or maybe steak Dijon?
(Stands in front of the refrigerator, contemplating the choices. He opens the refrigerator door and gasps in disgust) Peanut Butter and Jelly! Peanut Butter and Jelly! Avec Wonderbread!
RUTH (Calls to the offstage Anna): Anna, you want a PBJ?
ANNA (Offstage): No thanks. I’m going to take a nap.
(Ruth becomes Henri again.
Henri sighs, then begins to work. He gathers the bread, peanut butter, jelly and knife on the table, arranges them. He looks at them. He takes out a nice plate and linen napkin, grabs a silk rose in a vase, and rearranges it all into a still life. Satisfied, he begins to create his sandwich, making a sensuous meal out of his peanut butter and jelly. As he works, he sings a medley of Maurice Chevalier hits. [Since it’s really Ruth
doing Henri imitating Maurice Chevalier, it’s not as awful as the real thing.] He hums “Louise,” occasionally substituting with “Henri. “)
HENRI: “Every little breeze seems to whisper ‘Henri’—da dada da, da dada da—‘Henri’—da da da da—da da da da—‘I love you, love you—’”
(Henri modulates into “Mimi,” changing lyrics freely for “Cecil.” As Henri sings, he completes his sandwich, does a light soft-shoe with the plate, puts the plate back on the table. Then Henri dances from the room for a second.
Ruth returns as Orphan, walks into the kitchen. Orphan sees the peanut butter sandwich; stops. Looks around, sees no one. Orphan goes to the table, and sniffs the sandwich. Orphan likes what he smells.)
ORPHAN: Mmm-hmmm!
(Orphan takes a huge bite of the sandwich. Orphan stops, looks around, furtively leaves the room. Ruth returns as Henri, and comes sauntering back into the room still singing vintage Chevalier. Sees sandwich. Stops. In rage, picks it up and sees big bite gone from its middle.)
HENRI: WHO…Who…Who did this? What big, fat, humongous couchon did this to me?
(Henri/Ruth ducks under the kitchen table and waits. We see a hand sneak from under the edge of the table toward the sandwich, and hear:)
ORPHAN: Ahhh-hhhah!!
(Ruth/Orphan stands, takes the sandwich, smiles; and just as he’s about to take a bite:)
HENRI: All right, Orphanne! Hold it right there! That’s my peanut butter sandwich!
ORPHAN (Snarl): NAA-NOOOOOOH!
(Orphan starts to eat. Orphan/Henri struggle with both of Ruth’s hands.)
HENRI: Put It Down—
ORPHAN (Baring fangs): Sahh-sssahhh!!!
HENRI: I’m going to…
(Henri makes bopping noises; Orphan starts to cry.)
ORPHAN: GRR…
(Orphan bites the air several times.)
HENRI: OOWW!
(Henri starts to cry. Ruth’s hand does a Dr. Strangelovian battle with her other hand, fighting for possession of the peanut butter and jelly. In the midst we hear her sing Wagner, etc. Finally, Ruth, as Orphan, pops the entire sandwich in her mouth in triumph.)
ORPHAN: MMMM-MMMMMMMM!!!
(Ruth suddenly stops, with peanut butter crammed in her mouth, turning to see Anna watching her from the hallway. Ruth tries to manage a smile with her PBJ-smeared mouth.)
Scene Five
In the morning. Anna sits at table, drinking coffee. Peter sits, smoking and brooding.
