The Baltimore Waltz and Other Plays

by Paula Vogel

  EMILIA: Oh, Miss Desdemona!!

  8.

  The same. In the darkness we hear Emilia singing a hymn: “La-la-la-la—Jesus; La-la-la-la—Sword; La-la-la-la—Crucifix; La-la-la-la—Word.”

  Lights come up on Desdemona, lying stretched out on the table, her throat and head arched over its edge, upside down. A pause.

  DESDEMONA: You really think his temper today was only some peeve?

  EMILIA: I’m sure of it; men get itchy heat rash in th’ crotch, now and then; they get all snappish, but once they beat us, it’s all kisses and presents the next morning—well, for the first year or so.

  DESDEMONA: My dear mate is much too miserly to give me anything but his manhood. The only gift he’s given me was a meager handkerchief with piddling strawberries stitched on it, and look how he’s carrying on because I’ve lost it! He guards his purse strings much dearer than his wife.

  EMILIA: I’m sure my lord will be waitin’ up for you to come to bed. Full o’ passion, and embracin’ and makin’ a fool o’ himself—You just see if your Mealy isn’t right.

  DESDEMONA: Yes, of course you’re right. Good old Mealy, I don’t know what I’d do without your good common sense. Oh, it’s the curse of aristocratic blood—I feel full of whims and premonitions—

  EMILIA: Perhaps it was something m’lady et?

  DESDEMONA (First she smiles; then she laughs): Yes—that must be it!

  (Desdemona laughs again. Mealy can’t understand what is so funny.)

  9.

  Emilia and Desdemona.

  EMILIA: Ambassador Ludovico gave me a message and is wantin’ a response.

  DESDEMONA: What does my cousin want?

  (Emilia digs into her bodice.)

  EMILIA: It’s somewhere in here…wait… (Searches)

  DESDEMONA: Oh, good Lord, Mealy, you could lose it in there!

  (Desdemona runs to Emilia, peers in her bosom and starts to tickle her.)

  EMILIA: Miss Desde—! Wait, now—no, STOP!! Here it is now—

  (Emilia finds a folded paper. She hands it to Desdemona, and then peers over Desdemona’s shoulder.)

  DESDEMONA (Sighing): Oh, Ludovico, Ludovico. “Deeply desiring the favor…” etceteras. “…Impatient until I can at last see you in private, throwing off the Robes of State to appear as your humble friend.” He’s just too tiresome.

  EMILIA: What response are you wanting me to give?

  DESDEMONA: Oh, I don’t know. Let the old lecher wait. I told him it was entirely past between us, and then he bribes his way into being appointed Ambassador!

  (Desdemona in a loquacious mood. Emilia gives her a rubdown.)

  DESDEMONA: Ah, Emilia, I should have married Ludovico after all. There’s a man who’s always known the worth of ladies of good blood! A pearl for a pinch, a broach for a breast, and for a maiden-head…

  (Breaks into laughter)

  Ah, that was a lover!

  EMILIA: I don’t know how those sainted sisters could let such is-sagnations go on in their convent—

  DESDEMONA: Assignations. Really, Emilia, you’re quite hopeless. However can I, the daughter of a Senator, live with a washerwoman as fille de chambre? All fashionable Venice will howl. You must shrink your vowels and enlarge your vocabulary.

  EMILIA: Yes, mum. As-signations, as it were.

  (Muttering) If it were one o’ my class, I could call it by some names I could pronounce. I’ve put many a copper in their poor box, in times past, thinkin’ them sisters of charity in a godly house. Not no more. They won’t get the parings of my potatoes from me, runnin’ a society house of ass-ignations!

  DESDEMONA: Oh, those poor, dear sisters. I really don’t think they knew anything about the informal education their convent girls receive. For one thing, I believe myopia is a prerequisite for Holy Orders. Have you ever noticed how nuns squint?

  (Beat)

  Each Sunday in convent we were allowed to take visitors to chapel. Under their pious gaze Ludovico and I would kneel, and there I could devote myself to doing him à la main (Gestures) right in the pew! They never noticed! Sister Theresa did once remark that he was a man excessively fond of prayer.

  10.

  Emilia’s credo.

  EMILIA: It’s not right of you, Miss Desdemona, to be forever cutting up on the matter of my beliefs. I believe in the Blessed Virgin, I do, and the Holy Fathers and the Sacraments of the Church, and I’m not one to be ashamed of admittin’ it. It goes against my marrow, it does, to hear of you, a comely lass from a decent home, giving hand jobs in the pew; but I says to myself, Emilia, I says, you just pay it no mind, and I go about my business. And if I take a break on the Sabbath each week, to light a candle and say a bead or two for my em-ployers, who have given me and my husband so much, and who need the Virgin’s love and protection, then where’s the harm, say I?

  (Breath. Gets carried away) Our Lady has seen me through four and ten years of matreemony, with my bugger o’ a mate, and that’s no mean feat. Four and ten years, she’s heard poor Mealy’s cries, and stopped me from rising from my bed with my pillow in my hand to end his ugly snores ’til Gabriel—(Stops and composes herself)

  Ah, Miss Desdemona, if you only knew the peace and love Our Lady brings! She’d help you, mum, if you only kneeled real nice and said to her…and said…

  (Emilia can’t find the words that such a sinner as Desdemona should say as polite salutation to Our Lady. Desdemona erupts into laughter.)

  11.

  Emilia eats her lunch. Desdemona plays in a desultory fashion with a toy.

  DESDEMONA: (Frightened): Emilia, have you ever deceived your husband Iago?

  EMILIA (With a derisive snort): That’s a good one. Of course not, Miss—I’m an honest woman.

  DESDEMONA: What does honesty have to do with adultery? Every honest man I know is an adulterer…

  (Pause)

  Have you ever thought about it?

  EMILIA: What is there to be thinkin’ about? It’s enough trouble once each Saturday night, than to be lookin’ for it. I’d never cheat—never—not for all the world I wouldn’t.

  DESDEMONA: The world’s a huge thing for so small a vice.

  EMILIA: Not my world, thank you. Mine’s tidy and neat and I aim to keep it that way.

  DESDEMONA: Oh, the world! Our world’s narrow and small, I’ll grant you; but there are other worlds—worlds that we married women never get to see.

  EMILIA: Amen—and don’t need to see, I should add.

  DESDEMONA: If you’ve never seen the world, how would you know? Women are clad in purdah, we decent, respectable matrons, from the cradle to the altar to the shroud…bridled with linen, blinded with lace…These very walls are purdah.

  EMILIA: I don’t know what this thing called “purr-dah” means, but if it stands for dressing up nice, I’m all for it…

  DESDEMONA: I remember the first time I saw my husband and I caught a glimpse of his skin, and, oh, how I thrilled. I thought—aha!—a man of a different color. From another world and planet. I thought, if I marry this strange dark man, I can leave this narrow little Venice with its whispering piazzas behind—I can escape and see other worlds.

  (Pause)

  But under that exotic façade was a porcelain white Venetian.

  EMILIA: There’s nothing wrong with Venice; I don’t understand why madam’s all fired up to catch Cyprus Syph and exotic claps.

  DESDEMONA: Of course you don’t understand. But I think Bianca does. She’s a free woman—a new woman—who can make her own living in the world, who scorns marriage for the lie that it is.

  EMILIA: I don’t know where madam’s getting this new woman hogwash, but no matter how you dress up a cow, she’s still got udders.

  Bianca’s the eldest one of six girls, with teeth so horsey she could clean ’em with a hoof-pick, and so simple she has to ply the trade she does! That’s what your Miss Bianca is!

  DESDEMONA: Bianca is nothing of the sort. She and I share something common in our blood—that
desire to know the world. I lie in the blackness of the room at her establishment…on sheets that are stained and torn by countless nights. And the men come into that pitch-black room—men of different sizes and smells and shapes, with smooth skin, with rough skin, with scarred skin. And they spill their seed into me, Emilia—seed from a thousand lands, passed down through generations of ancestors, with genealogies that cover the surface of the globe. And I simply lie still there in the darkness, taking them all into me. I close my eyes and in the dark of my mind—oh, how I travel!

  12.

  Emilia and Desdemona. Desdemona is recklessly excited.

  EMILIA: You’re leaving?!! Your husband?!!

  DESDEMONA: It’s a possibility!

  EMILIA: Miss Desdemona, you’ve been taking terrible chances before, but now—if my lord catches you giving him th’ back wind, he’ll be after murdering both of us for sure—

  DESDEMONA: Where’s my cousin Ludovico? Is he in his room?

  EMILIA: He said he was turnin’ in early to get some rest before th’ morning—

  DESDEMONA: Yes, he’ll catch the first tide back. Well, there’s no harm in trying.

  EMILIA: Trying what!

  DESDEMONA: Trying on the robes of the penitent daughter. Ludovico can surely see how detestable this island, this marriage, this life is for me.

  (Has worked herself to the point of tears. Then she smiles) Perhaps a few tears would move him to intercede with my father on my behalf. If the disgrace of eloping with a moor is too great for Venetian society, a small annual allowance from Papa, and I promise never to show my face in town; and then…who knows…Paris! Yes, I’ll go write Ludovico a note right away, asking to see him tonight.—Mealy, just in case, could you pack a few things for me?

  EMILIA: And what if your husband discovers—

  DESDEMONA: I’ll leave first thing in the morning.

  EMILIA: If I may make so bold to suggest—

  DESDEMONA: What, what—

  EMILIA: That you by all means sleep with your husband tonight. So’s he won’t suspect anything. While you and he lie together, and if your cousin agrees, Mealy could pack up your things quiet-like in your chamber.

  DESDEMONA: Yes, that’s good. My life rests on your absolute discretion, Emilia.

  EMILIA: No one will hear a peep out o’ me. But, my lady—

  DESDEMONA: Now what is it?

  EMILIA: What becomes of me?

  DESDEMONA: Oh, good heavens, Mealy—I can’t think of trivia at a time like this.

  (Smoothly) I tell you what. Be a good girl, pack my things, and, of course, should I leave tomorrow, I can’t very well smuggle you on board, too; but I will send for you within the week. And your services will be remembered in Venice; with freer purse strings—who knows? Eh, my fille de chambre?

  (At this sop to her feelings, Emilia becomes fierce.)

  EMILIA: That won’t do, m’lady. If you leave me behind, I’ll not see you again, as your laundress, much less as your “fee der schomer.”

  (Desdemona, realizing the power that Emilia now has, kneels beside her.)

  DESDEMONA: All right. I’ll intercede with my cousin on your behalf. I’ll plead with him to take you, too. But I can’t promise anything. Are you sure it’s what you want? (Emilia nods)

  You’d leave your husband behind? (Emilia nods vigorously)

  Then—not a word. (Rises)

  (In turning to go) Oh, Emilia, since you’re just dawdling over that laundry, why not stop and peel some potatoes for Cook. When my husband comes in, he’ll want his usual snack of chips before he turns in—just the way he likes them… (Shudders) Greasy.

  EMILIA: But, Miss, it’s not my place no more to peel potatoes! I’m promoted now! I’m no mere (With disgust) SCULLERY MAID!

  DESDEMONA: Now, Mealy, just this once—

  EMILIA: You said I wouldn’t have to do potatoes anymore!

  DESDEMONA (Harshly): I can leave you rotting on Cyprus all together, you know. Do as you’re told. Peel the potatoes, and then look sharp and have that wash on the line by the time I return. Do I make myself clear?

  EMILIA: Yes, m’lady.

  DESDEMONA (Sweetly): And Emilia, dear, if Bianca comes when I’m gone, let me know immediately—I’ll be in my chamber.

  EMILIA: Very good, Miss Desdemona.

  (Desdemona exits. Emilia grudgingly gets up, and finds the barrel of potatoes. On the bench there is a paring knife. Emilia brings everything back to the table, sits, and begins paring potatoes—venting her resentment by gouging out eyes, and stripping the skin from a potato as if flaying a certain mistress alive.)

  EMILIA (Snorts out in contempt): “Fee der shomber!”

  (Then she pauses again, and wonders if Desdemona might not be for real in her offer. She questions the empty room) “Feeyah der schomber?”

  (Before Emilia’s eyes, she visualizes splendid dresses, the command of a household of subservient maids, a husbandless existence—all the trappings that go with the title.

  Emilia begins energetically, resolutely and obediently to slice the potatoes.)

  13.

  Emilia is hanging up the wash. Bianca knocks several times; then enters.

  BIANCA: Gaw Blimey!

  EMILIA: And where is’t you’ve lost your manners? Lettin’ the door ajar and leavin’ in drafts and the pigs—

  BIANCA: Aw’m sorry, Aw’m sure…

  (Bianca closes the door. She hesitates, and then with friendly strides, goes toward the clothesline.)

  BIANCA: ’Ow do, Emilia!

  EMILIA: I’d be doin’ a lot better if ye’d stop your gaddin’ and lend a hand with these things.

  BIANCA: Oh. Right you are, then.

  (Bianca goes briskly to the clothesline, and works. Silence as the women empty the basket. Emilia leaves Bianca to finish and starts in on her sewing. Pause.)

  BIANCA: Well, it’s—it ain’t ’arf swank ’ere, eh? (Indicates the room)

  EMILIA (Snorts): Swank? What, this? This is only the back room. The palace is through those doors—

  BIANCA: Oh. Well, it’s swank for a back room wotever it ’tis. Aw niver got to see it much; the Guy’nor in the owld days didn’t let me near, said Au made the men tomdoodle on their shifts; like as they’d be dis-tracted by me atomy. Aw think it’s sweet o’ him to gi’ me such credit; me atomy ain’t that bleedin’ jammy—but then, the owld Guv was the first to gi’ me the sheep’s eye ’imself. Very sweet on me, ’e was. So you see, Aw’d niver got close to the place before. Aw fink it’s swank!

  EMILIA (Icily): I’m sure you do.

  BIANCA: Yes, it’s quite—wot do ye call it—lux-i-o-rious.

  EMILIA: Lux-i-o-ri-us!! If I was you, I’d large my voc-abulary, an’ shrink me vowels.

  BIANCA (Offended): ’Ere now! Wot bus’ness is me vowels to you?! Leave me vowels alone—

  EMILIA: I’m after talking about your voc-abulary—your patter—not your reg-ularity.

  BIANCA: Oh.

  (Keeping up a friendly front with difficulty) Right. Well, then, is Desdemona ’ere?

  EMILIA (Sharply): Who?

  BIANCA: Uh…Des-de-mona—

  EMILIA: Is it m’lady you’re referrin’ to as if she were your mess mate?

  BIANCA: Look ’ere, Aw’m only doin’ as Aw was towld. She tells me to call her Desdemona, and she says Aw was to call and settle up accounts for last Tuesday night for those johns who paid on tick—oh, you know, who paid on credit, as yew la-de-da Venetians would say.

  EMILIA (Softly hissing): You listen to me, lassie: You’re riding for a fall the likes of which you never got paid for by your fancy men. The mistress of this house is not at home, nor will be to the likes of you. What m’lady does in the gutter is her own business, same as yours, but what happens here is the common buzz of all.

  BIANCA (Stunned): Wot! Miss Desdemona herself is callin’ us mates—Aw niver—

  EMILIA: Then she’s gullin’ you, as sure as ’tis she’s gullin’ that ass of a husband who’s so taken w
ith her; but let me tell you, you’ll go the way like all the other fancies she’s had in Venice… I should know. We all of us servants in her father’s house talked on end about Miss Desdemona.—For a time, she wanted to be a saint, yes! A nun with the sisters of mercy. At age twelve, she was washin’ the courtyard stones for penance, with us wiping up behind her. Then she was taken with horses, thank Jesus, and left sainthood behind. And then in turn again, she thought she was dyin’—stopped eating, and moped, and talked all dreamy and a little balmylike—until her father finally saw sense and sent her to the convent to be bred out of her boredom. You’re nothin’ but the latest whim, a small town floozy with small town slang, and if she’s lucky, she’ll tire of you before the master finds out. (Significantly) If she’s lucky.

  BIANCA (Somewhat subdued): So wot am Aw t’do, Emilia? Aw arsks you—

  EMILIA: Then ask me by “Miss Emilia” to you—

  (With great dignity) I’ll have you know, I’ve hereby been promoted to “fee der shimber” and if I was you, I’d keep on my right side.

  BIANCA (Impressed, scared): Oh—“fee dar shimber”—Aw niver met one o’ those before—Aw arsks yer pardon, Miss Emilia, Aw’m sure.

  EMILIA: That’s a bit of all right. You just listen to me: I know what side of me bread is buttered; behind this whimsy-cal missus is a power of a master—so you mind yourself; the smell of your sin’s goin’ to catch m’lord’s whiffin’ about, and he’s as jealous as he’s black. If m’lord Othello had a mind to it, he could have that little lollin’ tongue of yours cut clean out of your head, with none of the citizens of Cyprus to say him nay. And then what would you do for your customers! If he catched you degineratin’ his wife—

  BIANCA (Starting to cry with fear): Aw swear, Miss Emilia, Aw’m not degineratin’ m’lady; we was just mates, that’s wot. If Missus Desdemona wants to lark and gull her smug of a husband, that’s her business, then, ain’t it? Aw done as she towld me, an’ that’s all. She’s a good lady, an’ all, and Aw’ve just been friendly-like to her—

  EMILIA: Don’t be a little fool hussy. There’s no such creature, two-, three- or four-legged, as “friend” betwixt ladies of leisure and ladies of the night. And as long as there be men with one member but two minds, there’s no such thin’ as friendship between women. An’ that’s that. So turn yourself around, go out and close the door behind you, and take all traces of the flophouse with you, includin’ your tall tales about your “friendships” with ladies—