The Baltimore Waltz and Other Plays

by Paula Vogel

  MAN: Hi, baby girl.

  GIRL: Daddy!

  (To Woman) You didn’t tell me he was gonna be here.

  WOMAN: What are you doing here?

  GIRL: I came back for somethin’—Lisa’s waiting outside—

  WOMAN: Why don’t you just go back out to the car and Lisa—

  GIRL: —Why didn’t you tell me my father was coming tonight?

  WOMAN: Did you notice the knob is off the door?

  MAN: Don’t I get a kiss anymore?

  (The Girl runs to her father and hugs him.)

  MAN: That’s more like it.

  GIRL: It’s good to see you, Daddy.

  MAN: My God, you’re getting big. What are you doing tonight, princess?

  GIRL: I’m doin’ a sleepover at Lisa’s—she’s my friend in the car. Do you want to meet her?

  MAN: No—that’s okay. What do you girls do together?

  GIRL: We’re watching movies, mostly. Friday the 13th, Halloween—

  V.O.

  (À la horror movie)

  “Get out of the house! Get out of the—”

  WOMAN: I don’t know how you can watch those.

  GIRL: They’re just movies, mom.

  (To The Man) Are you coming back home?

  WOMAN: No! He was just leaving—we were on our way out—

  GIRL: I just got here!

  WOMAN: Leslie Ann, your father and I are in the middle of something—

  GIRL: —Lay-la. Where’s Calvin?

  MAN: He left after a little chat.

  GIRL: Are you gonna be here when I get back?

  WOMAN: No.

  GIRL: You just came over for a visit, Daddy?

  MAN: I wanted to try to talk to your mother, that’s all.

  (The Man hands Girl five dollars.)

  GIRL: Good luck. She’s hard to talk to.

  WOMAN: Okay. That’s enough. Go on with Lisa—

  GIRL: Why don’t you two just try to talk it out? Daddy, you’ve got to give up drinking, that’s all. And get another job. It’s no big deal. I don’t see why you two can’t work it out.

  MAN: Well, I’d like that, Layla.

  WOMAN: It’s more complicated than that, honey.

  GIRL: I don’t want to be just another kid in a one-parent home. I don’t see why I can’t have two parents, like you’re supposed to have. I hate being a latchkey kid, if anyone wants to ask about my feelings.

  WOMAN: You’re not a latchkey kid. I’m always home, working.

  GIRL: Oh, great! I’m in a one-parent home, with a working mother, who types porno all day long on her butt in the living room! You can’t even work a nine to five—

  WOMAN: Listen, young lady. My nerves are just about. shot. Don’t push me. Not you, too—

  GIRL: I’m gonna tell Lisa to go on without me.

  WOMAN: No. You are going. With Lisa. And have a nice time.

  GIRL: Everybody gets to talk to him but me!

  (There is the sound of a car horn. Three times… “Lo-lit-ta. “)

  THE VOICE: Daddy’s girl…

  (The Girl goes to the door and yells:)

  GIRL: Go on without me, okay?!

  (There is the sound of a car horn again, with The Voice echoing:)

  THE VOICE: Daddy’s girl…

  GIRL: I wanna stay here and talk.

  WOMAN: Not tonight. I mean it.

  GIRL: I can’t even talk to my own father!! Why can’t we be like other families?

  Don’t I even get a chance? Where’s my fucking 4-H club! When did we ever say grace at the dinner table! I’m a fucking statistic from a broken home! A goddamn teenage statistic without enough money for a fucking double-feature who has to lie that my mother’s a secretary and that my father’s a secret agent so no one finds out I’ve got a pervo for a mother, a drunk for a father and a four-eyed geek for a brother who beats-off in his catcher mitt! FUCK!

  (The Girl slams out of the house.)

  WOMAN: I’m not a mean woman. But I’m really going to enjoy watching her when she has children of her own.

  MAN: I don’t remember talking to my mother like that.

  WOMAN: The only reason Leslie Ann thinks the sun shits out of your ass is ’cause I’ve lied to her all these many years. She thinks I’m just…clumsy.

  MAN: Yeah, well you are.

  WOMAN: I wasn’t “clumsy” until after we got married.

  MAN: Okay, Charlene. I’ve ruined your life. Okay? I’m fucked-up as a husband and a father, and I’ve ruined whatever fucking chance at happiness you and my children have in this lifetime.

  WOMAN: I’m not asking you for that, Clyde.

  MAN: What do you want from me?

  WOMAN: Why’d you come over?

  MAN: I…wanted to see you.

  WOMAN: Why? What is it you want?

  MAN: I want…I want…what’s the use.

  (The Man gets up to go.)

  WOMAN: Just tell me the truth. Okay? I’m listening.

  MAN: You…you’ll hate me if you know…

  WOMAN: I can’t hate you more than I have for the past ten years.

  MAN: Well. Okay, this is hard for me, all right? It’s…it’s a fuckin’ Friday night. Right?

  And so what do we do, Friday night? Go out, drink some beer, and…ya know…cruise the strip. I mean, if you’re a guy who’s alone, that’s what there is to do in this town on a Friday.

  WOMAN: I’m with you so far.

  MAN: Right. So I…take a shower, you know, spruce up a little bit. And I count out the change I have left. And it’s not much. And that gets me a little depressed, but I think, okay, shit, I’ll economize, I’ll buy a six-pack for the truck, and I won’t drink out, you know? So I go downtown, and hit the streets…and I go in to a few…places…but mostly there are minimums. So I think, fuck, I can’t even watch the live action.

  WOMAN: You gotta have money to be a player.

  MAN: So…so…so I go into a corner bookstore, and it’s packed. And I change a five into quarters, and slip into the booth…and I—

  WOMAN: —You watch—

  MAN: Right. And all it does is get me even more agitated. I’m thinking, this is not what I want, on A Friday Night, the feeling of my own fist in a booth—I’m like numb to that by now—and so I get back into my own truck, and I drink a few beers, to get my nerve up—and I empty out my pockets…I check the dash and under the seats, and I count—and I come up with a lousy eighteen dollars and thirty-seven cents.

  WOMAN: Well, that’s better than nothing.

  MAN: Are you being…funny?

  WOMAN: No. I’m not. I’m not making judgments. Go on.

  MAN: Well, I think, you know, times are hard, maybe some working girl will consider it—you know? Maybe I’ll get lucky, or I’ll hit someone green on the street—so I crank up the engine, and start to drive it slow, down the side streets. And I see them, it’s warm out tonight, and they’re there, in groups—laughing, wearing next to nothing, and they’re so close, they’re laughing at me, calling out to me—

  WOMAN: —So why didn’t you ask someone?—

  MAN: —I don’t know. They were all together. I couldn’t get one off by herself; I thought they’d laugh—I couldn’t just call out, you know, “How about $18.37?!” I just…just lost my nerve, I was so…down by then…then…and then I just kept driving and the truck kind of drove here by itself.

  WOMAN (Quietly): So you’re telling me that you drove to your ex-wife’s house because you couldn’t afford a prostitute.

  MAN: Jesus, Charlene, don’t make it sound like that!

  WOMAN: I’m not taking offense, Clyde. I’m telling it like it is. It’s the truth. I’m a grown woman. I can take the truth. In fact, I prefer it.

  MAN: I mean, the truth is…the truth is…that lately nothing really seems to do it for me. I don’t know what…what’s happening to me…but all the usual…uh…escapes…turn me on but they don’t work anymore—I just get more and more depressed and anxious—like what if it just won’t work
at all, I mean, it happens, sometimes to men, and something’s happening in…in my head—well, frankly, it scares the shit out of me. And it’s building up into a big problem now.

  WOMAN: I don’t understand.

  (The Man starts to shake, ever so slightly, trying not to cry.)

  MAN: I mean like magazines, or girls in the booth, you know? I’ll try to watch them, to use them, but…something’s changed…I start thinking, she’s young enough to be my daughter, or…I’ll bet she’s married, or she’s someone’s mother…the words I read in the books I buy, I start to wonder if some woman’s writing them, the way you do, to pay the rent for her kids…and…I think I’m really, really fucked-up. I’m sorry…I don’t mean to do this to you, I know you’ve got problems of your own, but I just think I need to talk to a woman, you know…

  (The Man is crying, quietly.)

  WOMAN: Sit down. Just…sit down. Okay? (The Man does so)

  It’s okay. It happens. I think you should find someone to talk to about this, okay, Clyde? I mean a professional. It’s not anything…insoluble…Just take a second, now.

  (Pause. They sit quietly beside each other on the sofa. The Woman makes a decision.)

  WOMAN: How are you feeling? Does it still hurt?

  MAN: Huh? Oh, that—no, I barely feel it. I think it’s stopped bleeding.

  WOMAN: Okay—listen. I’m just a woman on a Friday night, okay? I’ve come down on my price for you—just one—just tonight—for $18.37. You’ve hit the jackpot, mister. I am not your wife—or anyone’s mother right now. Just this once—Clyde—we’ve got to be quick, before the kids come back. Put the chain on the door, and make the sofa bed up, okay? The sheets are already on it, you’ve just got to take the cushions off and pull it out. I’m going…to change into something.

  (The Man has a hard time talking.)

  MAN: You don’t have to…

  WOMAN: I know I don’t.

  MAN: I’m not sure if I can…if I—

  WOMAN: Then we’ll just hold each other. All Right? Quick, now, before I change my mind. I’ll be right back.

  (The Woman exits into the bathroom. The Man, unable to believe his luck, sits for a few moments on the sofa. Then slowly, he gets up, in pain. He draws the blinds closed. He begins to take the cushions off the sofa. When he turns his back to the audience, we can see that his jeans are soaked in blood. He sees that he has drenched the cushion, and quickly turns the bloody side to the wall. He stops and calls out:)

  MAN: Charlene! Uh—Charlene—

  WOMAN (Offstage): What!

  MAN: I don’t have… anything on me…you know? In case—

  WOMAN (Offstage): That’s okay. I’ve got some protection in the house. (Laughs) The other kind. A girl scout is always prepared…

  (The Man stops, scowls. Blue light blends with stage lights, slowly.)

  THE VOICE: She’s got protection in the house.

  V.O.

  A girl scout is always…prepared…

  THE VOICE: She’s got plenty of protection. She’s prepared.

  V.O.

  Always prepared.

  THE VOICE: “Case 103 continued. In June of this past year, authorities were notified by subject’s wife and promptly charged Mr. C. with a restraining order. However, Mr. C. ignored said order, and managed to isolate his ex-wife in her home, where, unable to arouse himself by normal stimuli, he was overcome with a desire for what I term ‘lust-murder.’ Only after he had satisfied himself with violence on ex-wife’s body was subject apprehended.”

  (Steadily angry, The Man begins to pull out the bed. He reaches his hand into the sofa frame, and stops again. He feels something. The Man slowly pulls out a gun. He stands there, thinking, holding the gun. He checks the ammunition. Then he tucks it into his waistband, and finishes making up the bed. Then he sits, brooding. The screenplay goes on while he waits:)

  V.O.

  (Breathy)

  “She was hot. She was throbbing. But she was in control. Control of her body. Control of her thought. Control of…him.

  He was hot. He was throbbing. And out of control. He needed to be restrained. Tied Down. And taught a lesson…

  Okay. Now we separate the men from the little boys—”

  THE VOICE: —Cut! Listen, there’s been a change in the script—

  V.O.

  What change?

  THE VOICE: Al says he wants the bondage in reverse. Okay?

  V.O.

  That’s not what we rehearsed…

  THE VOICE: Since when are movies made by screenwriters? Directors make the movies. Not some broad sitting on her ass. Improvise, can’t you? Your dialogue has gotta be as good as the dumb ass writer…

  V.O.

  But I thought—

  THE VOICE: Do we pay you to think? You’re a professional, aren’t you? Do you want the role or don’t you—we’re wasting overtime—

  V.O.

  Okay. The show…must go on.—Hey, guys, wait, these restraints are on awfully tight—

  THE VOICE: Come on! Let’s finish this take…Ready, camera, action—

  V.O.

  (Bad acting)

  “Please don’t hurt me…”

  THE VOICE: I’m not gonna hurt you, baby…I’m just gonna teach you a little lesson…a lesson you’ll remember…

  (There is the sound of a large switch.)

  V.O.

  (Pain)

  Shit! Wait a minute, guys—that really hurt. Larry—stop the camera—Larry? Where’s Larry?

  THE VOICE: We told Larry to take a walk.

  V.O.

  (Scared)

  I don’t know any of you guys…are you guys with Gyno Productions?

  THE VOICE: This is not your screenplay.

  V.O.

  I don’t understand…

  THE VOICE: Ever hear of snuff films?

  (Just then, the bathroom door opens, and The Woman, in a peignoir, reenters the room. With a well-developed animal instinct, she stands stock-still, smelling the change in the atmosphere. The Boy and Girl have appeared as well, pressed against the window glass. The Boy, watching the action, cries, but The Girl watches as if filming.)

  THE VOICE: What are you—

  MAN: What are you looking at?

  WOMAN (Scared): Nothing. Maybe this was a stupid idea.

  THE VOICE: You look great.

  MAN: You look…great.

  THE VOICE: Really great

  MAN: Really great.

  WOMAN: Really? Worth $18.37, huh?

  THE VOICE: Ya gotta have money to be a player.

  MAN: Let me…hold you. Come here.

  THE VOICE: Lights, camera, action!

  (The Woman goes to The Man; they embrace.)

  WOMAN: This feels good.

  MAN: You smell good.

  V.O.

  Get out of the house!

  MAN: I’ve been thinking—ya know, trying to figure out women. What turns them on. And I think tonight I’ve found the answer.

  WOMAN: Let’s not talk.

  MAN: Is it our smell? Our torso? Our butts?

  WOMAN: Let’s not bring that subject up.

  (The Woman gently strokes his wounded half and stops at the wetness.)

  WOMAN: Hey—wait a moment—

  MAN: I think women really get turned on to men in pain. That’s what they like—

  (The Woman breaks away; in fear she examines her hand, now bloodied.)

  WOMAN: Oh my god—Clyde, you’re—

  MAN: Blood! Blood?! Does it excite you, baby? Get you hot?

  (The Man reaches in to the back of his pants, and rubs her face with the blood.)

  WOMAN: Oh my god—

  (The Woman starts to dash for the door, but he gets there first. The Man carefully draws out the gun.)

  MAN: You left your “protection” under the sofa.

  WOMAN: Clyde—listen—

  MAN: Shut, up, god. damn, you! (The Man savagely hits The Woman)

  (As soon as Clyde strikes Charlene, in the n
ext section, The Man and Woman lip-sync the voices which are provided by The Voice and Voice-Over. The lip-sync should be very crude; we watch their mouths move like puppets, mechanically and exaggerated.)

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “Do you remember the last time?

  Do you remember the last time

  (The Woman starts to cry in elaborate pantomime; Voice-Over sobs into mike.)

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “I asked you a question. Do. you. remember. the last time.”

  I asked you a question. Do. you. remember. the last time.

  WOMAN

  V.O.

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “When … we … made love?”

  When … we … made love?

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “No. When I beat you to within an inch of your life. You didn’t learn did you?”

  No. When I beat you to within an inch of your life. You didn’t learn did you?

  WOMAN

  V.O

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “No.”

  No.

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “I. can’t. hear. you.”

  I. can’t. hear. you.

  WOMAN

  V.O.

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “No.”

  No.

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync)

  (Live)

  “I’m going to have to teach you all over again.”

  I’m going to have to teach you all over again.

  (The Voice starts to play rap music.)

  WOMAN

  V.O.

  (She is having difficulty breathing and only shakes her head)

  (Live)

  Please—stop—

  MAN

  THE VOICE

  (Lip-sync with difficulty)

  (Live)

  “Shut.Up…Now’get on the bed like a good wife.”