The Baltimore Waltz and Other Plays

by Paula Vogel

  VERA: They won’t mind.

  URSULA: What about the twenty dollars? We’re running a business, not a lonely-hearts club.

  VERA: Oh, dock it from my allowance, then. I’m going to see Mr. Francis.

  URSULA: I most certainly shall deduct it from your income. I find it shocking that you can just desert your duty—

  EDNA: You’re making me angry, Ursula Thaller. Vera hasn’t taken sick a day since 1978. You’re one to talk about duty and money, sneaking around making investments with our money.

  (To Vera) Give my regards to Mr. Francis, will you? I do hope he’s on the mend. Ursula had better not dare take a penny off your weekly pay.

  URSULA: And who is the Madam here now? Things are deteriorating at a fast rate with your attitudes…

  EDNA: Our attitudes? OURS?

  VERA: Oh, I don’t give a hang one way or the other about the money. It’s not worth fighting about.

  EDNA: She had better not touch one red cent. You had better not, Ursula.

  URSULA: You’re hardly in a position to be giving me ultimatums. I could break in and train any eighty-year-old grandmother with better results—

  EDNA: Well, you just go and do that.

  VERA: Please, now, Edna, don’t get worked up; remember your gas—

  URSULA: She only seems to have fits when she has to work—

  EDNA: I’ve had it with you, Ursula Thaller. I quit.

  URSULA: You can’t quit. You’re fired. Vera will take over your customers beginning at 10 A.M. sharp.

  VERA (Starting to cry): Oh, no…Edna…Ursula…reconsider what you’re saying…

  URSULA: I have to take a firm hand. Once management gets weak, law and order goes right out the window.

  EDNA: I don’t want her to take me back. Not if she begged. I’ll go over to the bench across the park and set up my own trade.

  VERA: Be reasonable. The money in the bank belongs to you, too—

  EDNA: I knew it would come to this. I warned Mae—

  VERA: Edna, don’t make things w—

  EDNA: You should know, Ursula, that you’re Madam by default. Years ago, we all voted for Lillian to come after Mae. But Lillian didn’t want to. And Mae said you’d have more talent with the ledger book than with the customers. So we gave in.

  URSULA (Wounded): I’m not running a popularity contest, I’m running a business.

  EDNA: Not my business, you’re not. I intend to take my regulars with me.

  URSULA: When I get through with your reputation—

  EDNA: Oh, you don’t frighten me. I’m done with being scared.

  (Pause)

  The money thing has always gone to your head. The same thing happened when you were bootlegging liquor; you turned strange. I couldn’t stand it. That’s why I turned you in.

  URSULA (Struck; quiet): It was—you? You turned me in? Not…Lillian?

  EDNA: No. Lillian said it was your one chance out of the Life. She never said a word.

  URSULA: So, it wasn’t Lillian…

  (New tone) Vera. I don’t want you talking to that woman during hours. Sit over here by me; we have to arrange a new schedule.

  VERA (Wavering and making a decision): Ursula, I stick with Edna. I can’t scab on my own friend.

  (Vera sits back down on the bench by Edna; the two women scoot over nearer to the far end.)

  URSULA: You…you quit?

  VERA: No—I’m not quitting. I’m…I’m striking. We’re on strike.

  EDNA: On strike? Oh, no—I don’t know, Vera—I’ve never done a thing like that. I don’t know if I could—

  VERA: Of course you can, Edna. There’s nothing wrong with striking. Everybody does it nowadays.

  URSULA: Well, that’s just lovely. After all these years, to find that I’ve been working alongside communists.

  VERA: We’re not communist. We’re…labor.

  (Pause.)

  EDNA: Now what do we do?

  VERA (Thinking): Why, I suppose we could sit in the sun in protest.

  (Edna and Vera smile at each other. They relax on the bench and throw their faces back toward the sun.)

  URSULA: Well, things are just going to the dogs. I never thought I’d live to see the day…when order would just crumble. No respect for authority.

  EDNA: Oh, just cool it, Ursula. Enjoy the day. When you’re ready to talk, we’ll talk.

  (To Vera) I suppose we should make a list of demands.

  VERA: Why, yes.

  EDNA: Longer lunch hours.

  VERA: Shorter work weeks.

  EDNA: Merit raises.

  (Pause.)

  VERA: I can’t think of anything else.

  (Pause.)

  URSULA (Shaken): Well, I’d better ring up the clientele and make cancellations. After fifty years. Left holding the bag. Mae would roll over in her grave.

  (Pause.)

  VERA: Ursula, are you all right?

  URSULA: Oh, you needn’t worry about me. Enjoy yourself.

  (Sarcastic) Just let it hang loose.

  VERA: It already does hang loose.

  EDNA: She’ll be fine, Vera.

  (Pause. They sit in the sun. Ursula, stiff, pale, stares resolutely in front. Vera smiles. Edna watches the passersby.)

  VERA: So, now what do we do? Edna? What are we going to do the rest of the day?

  EDNA: Why, I don’t know. I could do anything. Let me see.

  (Searches through her purse and counts the money in her wallet) I think I have enough. Maybe I’ll take in a movie. Gee, I haven’t been to the movies since… The Sound of Music.

  VERA: Oh, I loved that one. Julie Andrews was beautiful. Such a voice. I think I’ll go to the hospital early. Give Mr. Francis a surprise. Maybe I’ll give him a nice talcum back rub. Maybe I’ll spend the whole day with him. We can watch the TV. And I can sit with him while he eats his dinner. He gets such pleasure from small things. It hurts whenever I have to leave—the way he holds on to me. And…and Edna—the look in his eyes. He knows, Edna. He knows.

  Blackout Three

  Another brief blackout. When the lights come up, Edna and Vera are sitting in the middle of the bench, looking relaxed. They smile, and lean back into the sun. Vera is clutching a small white bag of chocolates. Pause.

  EDNA: I thought she’d never die.

  VERA: Edna!

  EDNA: Well, it’s true. Ursula was mean enough to live to a hundred.

  VERA: I don’t think she was that bad. She was cranky; but after forty-five years, you kind of get attached even to that.

  EDNA: Maybe you got attached. I didn’t.

  (Vera opens her small white bag and smiles.)

  VERA: Would you care for some chocolate, Edna?

  EDNA: What kind are they?

  VERA: Turtles. I felt like a little treat.

  EDNA: Thank you.

  (Edna, with great deliberation, chooses one. Vera looks in the bag, takes one out and puts it in her mouth. The two women pause a moment, and let the chocolate melt.)

  EDNA: They’re very good.

  VERA (Happy): Yes. They’re sweet. (Looks into her bag) Still, who would have suspected that she was so batty?

  (Edna and Vera laugh.)

  EDNA: “You’re going to need two strong arms to carry away what’s left…” “More solid than gold, more stable than oil…”

  (Pause.)

  VERA: Edna, what are we going to do with all that sugar?

  EDNA: Dump it.

  VERA: All of that sugar? How much do you think she has?

  EDNA: Well, the back room’s piled ceiling to floor with five-pound bags. You can figure there’s more than a thousand pounds—no wonder the floor’s been sagging.

  VERA: That explains why she insisted on having the large rooms at the back. And why she never invited us to her room.

  EDNA: She must have been collecting those sugar bags before 1945…some of those bags are rotting through…and the roaches…(Shudders)

  Mr. Zabar says it’s up to us to clear out
the room and exterminate. There may be more than roaches back there, too. I’ll hire someone to do it first thing next week. I’m not stepping foot in there. As Ursula would say, “You can catch more roaches with sugar…”

  VERA: Poor Ursula…Edna?

  EDNA: Hmmm?

  VERA: What happened to the certificate…certificate…

  EDNA: Of deposit? Well, I got the money out. We had to pay a substantial penalty. So much for money making money.

  (Pause.)

  VERA: What are we going to do about the customers?

  EDNA: Well, this is how I figure it, Vera. Let’s just keep the ones we fancy.

  VERA: Really? You mean it?

  EDNA: There’s no sense in us working ourselves to death.

  VERA: Well, Edna, now that you’re in charge…you know, you don’t have to do any of the work at all…

  (Bravely) I could arrange things and keep the books, if you want…the others did…

  EDNA: No—I don’t want to do that…I like my work. Besides, Mr. Benjamin would be furious if I left the Life. You know, I think that’s what happened to Ursula…she quit working when she became Madam, and I think the…inactivity killed her.

  (Pause; then low) Or maybe it was the strike. I don’t feel good about that.

  VERA: Why?

  EDNA: I don’t know—it just wasn’t right. It upset…the way things are supposed to be. I feel bad about it.

  VERA: Why, Edna, we meant no harm about it. It was fun. If Ursula had wanted to, she could have joined us—she could have gone on strike too.

  EDNA: No, she couldn’t—she was Management.

  VERA: Oh. Well, I had a good time on strike. Edna, do you suppose we could go on strike again?

  EDNA: You can if you like—I can’t. I’m Management now.

  VERA: Oh, yes, of course…

  EDNA: You know, Vera, I don’t much care if I’m in charge or not…you could take over the operations if you want…

  VERA: Why, goodness, no, Edna, I couldn’t take over the business. I have no head at all for numbers and dates…You’re much better at that sort of thing. Besides, you’re older.

  EDNA: Yes, I guess you’re right. It feels funny to be in charge. It doesn’t feel right. I don’t know…

  VERA: You’re doing a great job. Really. Besides, Mae would want it this way. Keeping to the order of things.

  EDNA: Yes.

  VERA: So, who are we going to ditch?

  EDNA: First one to go: Mr. Ezra! No wonder he never talks—his breath could kill a horse at ten paces!

  VERA: Mr. Adam?

  EDNA: Mr. Warren!

  VERA: Mr. Julius?

  EDNA: Let’s keep Mr. Sidney and Mr. Brett…

  VERA: Oh, yes, Lillian’s friends…and of course, Mr. David and Mr. Andrew.

  EDNA: Mr. Samuel, Mr. Lawrence, Mr. Sheldon, and of course, Mr. Benjamin. And Mr. Francis when he gets out. How is he doing?

  VERA: Oh, he’s much better this week. His appetite is back. They might let him come back any day now…

  EDNA: Vera? Do you think maybe you could visit Mr. Francis tonight instead of this afternoon? Mr. Zabar’s charging us for the fumigation; that’s going to put us back at least forty dollars…

  VERA: Well, I suppose so. I think if I took a cab, I could keep my appointment with Mr. Brett and still get to Roosevelt in time for dinner. I like to be there with Mr. Francis when he eats. It’s so awful to eat dinner alone. Mr. Francis acts just like a child if I’m not there.

  EDNA: Sometimes Mr. Benjamin acts just like a child when it’s time to leave. He holds me around the waist and says he’s not going to let me out of his sight. Then I have to slap his face, and say, “Mr. Benjamin, let go this instant. What makes you think any woman would have you?” And I rub the bristle on his face and say, “Shave this mug!” And then he rubs his beard on my face and I scream. And sometimes he says, “Edna, you’ve got to marry me! I can’t afford to keep this up…” He doesn’t really mean it, though. It’s just one of our games…he’s my good-time papa, that’s what I call him. I like to sit on his knee and put my hands under his shirt; I like his smell—I know it after all these years. There was a time when he was still working on Wall Street that Mae would schedule me in regular for him at lunch time; I had the key to his apartment. He’d come through the door, three-piece suit and briefcase, and say “What’s for lunch?” And I’d jump on him and wrap my legs around him…He’s got a picture of himself in uniform on the night table, twenty-five years old and smiling. Gives me the willies to look at it. I don’t like to think of Mr. Benjamin as a young man. It makes me sad. Don’t you think young men are awfully sad?

  Blackout Four

  Another brief blackout. Lights up on Edna and Vera, who have reversed their positions on the bench. Edna is slumped on the bench, pale and tired.

  VERA: Edna, you have to eat something.

  EDNA: I’m not hungry.

  VERA: Yes, but you have to try. And you’re not sleeping. How can you, adding numbers all night? I know it’s upsetting that Mr. Zabar’s kicking us all out of the rooms upstairs, but we can find another place in the neighborhood. We’ll just have to pay a little more. And just so he can make room to sell espresso machines and cuisinarts!

  (No answer)

  How about if I go and get something nice and light at the corner deli—what about a BLT on toasted rye, the way you like it?

  EDNA (In a trance): I don’t know. Take that BLT. You look at it and see a nice BLT, the way I used to.

  But now it’s all changed. I look at it and I see union struggles for lettuce workers in California…tomato harvests, porker roundups, produce truckers, pigs to the slaughter…there’s a factory that’s designed just to make the bacon package somewhere; machines that do nothing else but cut the cardboard.

  And then there’s the rye…someone is in a factory right now who’s sole job is taking care of those little seeds…thousands of loaves on the conveyor belt, being sliced and wrapped, loaded into big, greasy trucks…thousands and thousands of hands just to make that one BLT.

  And you know what? It’s all automatic. They don’t care.

  VERA (Alarmed): Edna!!

  EDNA: I’m not hungry.

  VERA: Look, I care. What if I made something from scratch… nothing out of a can.

  (Brightly, desperately) What if I made you red beans and rice?

  EDNA: That’s a lot of trouble standing over a hot stove.

  VERA: Oh, God, makes my mouth water just to think of it…red beans and rice…our mothers made it every Monday in the heat of summer, they didn’t mind the heat…

  EDNA: I haven’t had red beans and rice in I don’t know how long…Do you really think you could make some for me?

  VERA: Well, my red beans never come out like Mama’s. And I used to watch her make them, too. You’d ask her, “Mama, how much flour goes in the sauce?” And she’d respond…(Cups her hand) “Oh, about this much, and… (Pinching her fingers together)…and then a tad more.” Her beans were heaven. She’d leave a bit pot simmering with the ham bone on the stove in ninety-degree heat, and then go out to the backyard and tackle the laundry. I could smell her beans a block away…the smell always makes me hungry. Thick, red sauce, over rice, with a bay leaf, and mopped off the plate with a thick crust of dilly bread…

  (Beat)

  I tried making them a while ago; I got some big ham hocks from the butcher’s on 79th Street, and beans and tomatoes…but they turned out funny. I must have forgotten to put something in the sauce. I don’t know what it is I forgot…

  Blackout Five

  There is a quick blackout. When the lights come back up, we see Vera, sitting alone in the middle of the bench. She just sits, plaintively quiet, at times watching the traffic. But she sits still, looking very frail, and a bit frightened. There is a slow fade-out to

  Blackout Six

  END OF PLAY

  Desdemona

  A Play About a Handkerchief

  PRODUCTION HISTO
RY

  Desdemona was given its first staged reading October 1977 at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. Paula Vogel directed.

  The play was co-produced by Circle Repertory Theatre under Tanya Berezin, Artistic Director and Bay Street Theatre Festival under Sybil Christopher and Emma Walton, Co-Artistic Directors; Tanya Berezin and Abigail Evans, Producers. It opened June 1993 at Bay Street Theatre Festival in Sag Harbor, New York, and subsequently in November 1993 at Circle Repertory Theatre, New York City. It was directed by Gloria Muzio, with sets by Derek McLane, lights by Michael Lincoln, costumes by Jess Goldstein and sound by Randy Freed. The cast was as follows:

  DESDEMONA

  J. Smith-Cameron

  EMILIA

  Fran Brill

  BIANCA

  Cherry Jones

  CHARACTERS

  DESDEMONA: Upperclass. Very.

  EMILIA: Broad Irish brogue.

  BIANCA: Stage cockney.

  PLACE

  A back room of the palace on Cyprus.

  TIME

  Ages ago.

  The prologue takes place one week before

  Desdemona’s last day on Cyprus.

  NOTE TO DIRECTORS

  Desdemona was written in thirty cinematic “takes.” The director is encouraged to create different pictures to simulate the process of filming: Change invisible camera angles, do jump cuts and repetitions, etc. There should be no blackouts between scenes.

  Desdemona was written as a tribute (i.e., “rip-off”) to the infamous play, Shakespeare the Sadist by Wolfgang Bauer.

  Prologue

  A spotlight in the dark, pinpointing a white handkerchief lying on the ground. A second spotlight comes up on Emilia, who sees the handkerchief. She pauses, and then cautiously looks about to see if she is observed. Then, quickly, Emilia goes to the handkerchief, picks it up, stuffs the linen in her ample bodice and exits. Blackout.

  1.

  A mean, sparsely furnished back room with rough, whitewashed walls. Upstage left there is a small, heavy, wooden back entrance. Another door, stage right, leads to the main rooms of the palace. There are a few benches lining the walls, littered with tools, baskets, leather bits, dirty laundry, etc. The walls bear dark wooden racks that neatly display farm and work equipment made of rough woods, leathers and chain.