by Alina Reyes
Shirley gets up, turns her back to Paul and downs a glass of champagne in one gulp.
SHIRLEY (After a pause) Congratulations. It’s funny—when we were together you were dead set against marriage …
PAUL Dead set against marriage? Not at all!
SHIRLEY What I mean is, since you didn’t marry me I guess it was because you didn’t love me enough.
PAUL Are you trying to hurt me? Are you trying to hurt us both?
SHIRLEY I’m trying to be honest, that’s all. Now you have a little wife, a baby, a quiet life. You’re happy. That’s fine. All I’m saying is that you didn’t do it with me. I guess I just wasn’t ordinary enough for you.
PAUL I must be dreaming! You call me here after fifteen years just to throw a fit of jealousy, for this display of wounded pride! Not “ordinary enough” for me … Please, Shirley, come down off your cloud.
SHIRLEY I am no ordinary woman. You know that, and that’s why you never married me.
PAUL Would you have married me if I’d asked you?
SHIRLEY You never asked me.
PAUL That’s unfair. You know the answer would be no. You no more wanted to get married than I did. The truth is, we were young, we wanted to pursue our acting careers and we were ready to sacrifice everything for that. Including our love.
SHIRLEY And that’s exactly what we did.
PAUL Whose fault is that?
SHIRLEY You were the one who left.
PAUL And why was that? Listen, it was painful enough at the time. There’s no point in stirring it all up now …
SHIRLEY You’re right. We won’t talk about it anymore. You couldn’t stand the fact that I was becoming more successful than you. It’s only human. Particularly for a man. Women are more modest, they know how to live in the shadow …
PAUL (Laughing) Ha! You’re incredible, do you know that? Here you are in New York promoting your latest movie, in which you have the star part … Your face is in every magazine, on every TV channel … You shut yourself away in your hotel suite and plaster the walls with photos of yourself … And you talk to me about women’s modesty …
SHIRLEY All I meant to say was … OK, let’s not talk about it anymore. What’s past is past, no point in going back. You’ve never understood me … I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to be like this.
PAUL The problem is, you see, you think you know everything. You talk to me about my “quiet little life.” What do you know about it? Have you asked me once about my work since I got here? All you wanted to know was whether or not I’d found a new woman.
SHIRLEY And you? Have you asked me once about my private life? Have you asked me if I’m happy?
Shirley pours out another drink and walks around the room, agitated. She seems a little drunk or at least overexcited.
She starts to cry.
Paul goes over and embraces her to try to console her.
He takes the glass from her hand, sets it down. Then he takes Shirley’s face between his hands.
PAUL (Tenderly) Baby Shirley shouldn’t drink champagne … Because it comes out of her beautiful eyes in fountains …
He begins kissing her tears.
PAUL … And I drink it from her cheeks.
Her eyes still full of tears, Shirley places her hand on the back of Paul’s neck. They look at each other and exchange a long kiss, mouths wide-open.
SHIRLEY Paul …
PAUL Shirley …
SHIRLEY Oh, Paul …
PAUL Yes, Shirley?
SHIRLEY I love you.
PAUL (Softly) Don’t say that.
SHIRLEY Why not?
PAUL Because it’s not possible.
SHIRLEY (Plaintively) But I love you … I’ve never stopped loving you all this time! That’s why it’s never worked with anyone else … (In a despairing voice) I thought about you, Paul. I’ve thought about you all these years …
PAUL Shirley, look at me. You can see I’m not the same person. Neither of us is the same person.
SHIRLEY I’m not asking you to go back.
PAUL What do you want, then? Why did you ask me to come?
SHIRLEY I … I’ve got something to tell you. It’s very important.
She takes the second bottle from the ice bucket, fills the two glasses and hands one to Paul.
PAUL Do you really think that will make it any easier?
SHIRLEY I know what you’re saying. The star descends into drink and depression. Soon she’ll be a bloated madwoman whom no one can stand. Men will avoid her, even her closest friends will start keeping their distance, and she’ll sit there in her empty mansion with nothing but her regrets and her madness … Kind of clichéd, isn’t it?
PAUL Don’t say such things. It won’t be like that at all. You’ve gotten where you are today because you’ve always been strong, much stronger than me. I don’t see why that should change.
SHIRLEY Can’t you see I’m not doing well? Can’t you see I’m not doing well at all? I’ve had too much in my life. Too many affairs, too many men, too much success, too much money, too much travel. I’ve had enough of being a capricious little girl. I want to be a real woman.
PAUL I understand. I once looked for happiness anywhere and everywhere, and in the end I realized that God hadn’t abandoned me and that He would help me to return the love people gave me and to distinguish between the things that really matter and those that don’t. If I can do anything for you, I will.
SHIRLEY I want to have a child.
PAUL Seriously? With that Italian guy? What’s his name … Angelo?
SHIRLEY (Somberly) Renato.
PAUL A rising young actor …
SHIRLEY You’re well informed.
PAUL You see, I haven’t forgotten you. I read what they write about you. I know the papers like a scandal and often write any old thing, but at least it gave me pleasure to see your career going so well.
SHIRLEY My best friend rang me yesterday evening. She told me that, since I’ve been away, Renato has been flaunting himself around all the nightclubs of L.A. with a twenty-year-old blonde, the daughter of my producer.
PAUL I’m so sorry … Do you really love him, this Renato?
SHIRLEY Let’s just say he’s an antidote to the passage of time … But I think I’m more obsessed with my own lost youth than with him … Of course, he loves me. He likes to run around when I’m not there, but as soon as I return he’ll be begging me to take him back.
PAUL (Skeptical, but not discouraging) If you’re sure … I guess everything will sort itself out …
SHIRLEY No.
PAUL (Weary, and somewhat abashed) Listen, in the end, it’s your business. I can talk it over with you if you think it will help, but I think you’re the only one who can decide if it’s the right thing for you. You’ve decided to break up with Renato in order to have a more serious relationship with someone else, is that it?
SHIRLEY Yes.
PAUL Well, then … If you have really decided to start a family, I’m sure you’ll find the right man, a man who knows how to love you and can make you happy.
SHIRLEY And I’m sure I won’t.
PAUL Why?
SHIRLEY Because I know him and he’s already taken.
PAUL Are you sure you love him? Are you sure he’s the right one?
SHIRLEY (Passionately) Yes. Oh, yes, I’m sure. But it may be too late.
PAUL If you’re really sure, you should take a chance. You don’t find true love too often in life. What were you doing with Renato, if you love another man? You shouldn’t waste your feelings. Have you been running away from love like this for a long time?
SHIRLEY (In a whisper) Yes.
PAUL Do you think this man loves you?
SHIRLEY I don’t know. (She lowers her eyes.) Do you still love me?
Paul looks at her; then, after a pause, gently:
PAUL Shirley, were you talking about me?
SHIRLEY (Emotionally) You’re the one I love.
Paul walks to the windo
w and looks out, not speaking. Shirley goes to the mirror, cleans up her face, fixes her hair. She fills her glass and goes over to Paul, still standing with his back to her. She places her hand on his shoulder. He turns round; she gives him the glass. He turns back to the window and drinks.
SHIRLEY (Calmly) I’m not asking you to come and live with me; I know that’s not possible. I just want you to give me a baby.
PAUL (Turning to face her) You’re crazy! Why me?
SHIRLEY Give me a child and I won’t ask anything more of you. You’ll never hear from me again.
PAUL Shirley, try to understand. That’s not the way to have children. A child has a right to know its father.
SHIRLEY I’ll say you’re dead.
PAUL Very nice. I can see you’ve thought of everything. Do you realize what it is you’re saying? I can’t believe you’re serious.
Shirley moves away, slumps down onto the couch and starts to cry.
SHIRLEY (In tears) I was sure, I was sure …
Paul comes over to her and raises her head, angrily.
PAUL Stop that. You’re an excellent actress, you know how to turn on the tears, but we’re not in a movie now. So enough of the melodrama, OK?
SHIRLEY (Crying even harder) Leave me alone, I beg you, leave me alone …
Paul sinks into an armchair.
Shirley comes over to him and falls at his feet.
SHIRLEY Forgive me.
Still kneeling next to the armchair, Shirley lays her head in Paul’s lap.
SHIRLEY (In a whisper) Give me a baby, Paul.
She lowers the shoulders of her dress, accentuating her décolletage.
SHIRLEY Do I still please you?
Paul drags Shirley to the couch. They kiss. He strokes her legs …
SHIRLEY (Triumphant) You’ll see, it’s you I’ll launch in Hollywood. I’ll do everything to make sure you become famous and Renato stays a nobody. He’ll see that he can’t get away with making a fool out of Shirley. (More controlled:) Come … we will be happy …
Paul leaps to his feet.
PAUL So that’s it! That’s what you wanted—to take me back in your luggage to make your boy toy angry …
SHIRLEY No … No, that’s not true! It’s for you, Paul, for us! Come with me, you won’t regret it!
PAUL You’re not thinking of anyone but yourself. Yourself and your own pleasure. As usual. People are just like puppets to you. But you don’t have as many strings as you used to to manipulate men. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected at home.
He heads for the door.
SHIRLEY You’re being unfair, so unfair!
She starts to cry again.
SHIRLEY Then go. I don’t ever want to see you again.
He leaves. Shirley stops crying immediately and picks up the phone.
SHIRLEY Hello … Could you put me through to my PA, please … Hello, Babe. Would you be so good as to look up a number for me, name of Bobby Wesson … Yes, that’s it, the car salesman. With a cute smile and a devilish glint in his eye. No problem, he’ll remember me …
τ
If I were Babe, thought Carmen as she watched the TV absently, I’d prefer a male. Her Bobby’s not bad, he’s quite willing, but she’ll never get what she wants from him. Men are ill-conceived, corrupted from the start. If only they could be reeducated. Today women are organized and well-informed, but although they are capable of significant action, they are still very limited.
Firstly, men don’t understand half of what they’re told. They don’t actually listen. You wouldn’t think we speak the same language. They really are alien beings. I’ve hung out with them since I don’t know when, and even I think I’ll never understand them completely. Women like to kid themselves that men are, so to speak, crudely made, basically very simple, and as long as you hold them by the right end you can do whatever you like with them. Lots of men think like that too. The truth is, there’s nothing on earth more complex or sadder than a man.
The truth is that / I have mud on my hands / from digging for weeds. / The truth is that / I bring them to you. / It’s true that / I work to find them / and I complain / as I dig and pull. / The truth is that / when I come back here / and I see your face / I don’t mind / this work anymore.
It’s a poem by the Cree Indians that I discovered on the Net, my spiritual home. Nature, sure, Nature. But Silicon Valley is part of Nature.
Mud on my hands: that’s men, that’s their sadness. Men are born lost, so they fight, drink, lose it, take drugs, they are obsessed with sex, power, money, glory, whatever, anything that lets them forget themselves, they flagellate one another and themselves, they’d rather die but are too full of life, men’s strength and energy are much greater than women’s, but so is their vanity, and their despair.
I’d put him on all fours on the living room table, legs slightly apart, buttocks turned toward the door, so that when I came in I’d immediately see his taut ass, his balls and cock dangling between his legs. He’d be completely at my disposal, I’d do whatever I liked with him, he’d never ask me for anything I didn’t want to do, I’d never have to fend off his advances or give in to them, he would be neither jealous nor proud nor repressed, he’d refuse none of my fantasies. He wouldn’t look at other women, I would reign supreme and he would not regret it for a moment. I’d spend hours dressing him and undressing him, cleaning him, washing him down below, a long wash down below, he’d have a collection of uniforms, one day a fireman, the next a legionnaire, or a policeman, or a general … Whenever I liked I would open his fly and slide my hand in, or between the buttons of his shirt, under his T-shirt or down the back of his pants. I’d fill his penis with strawberry yogurt, or lemon, or plain, nothing too heavy or sickly, and I would decide when it would go off in my mouth. Or else I’d use warm water or a gentle, perfumed gel and shower myself anywhere I wanted to. He would be able to make love to me for as long and as often as I required, until my desire was exhausted. I could amuse myself by masturbating him and sucking him in every possible position, and even when I was asleep I could keep him inside my vagina, or my ass, or my mouth, or in my hand without him ever getting sick of it. He’d become erect or limp on command like a real man, only more reliable. His face and tongue would become ultrasophisticated vibrators whenever I wanted, and as he would be extremely supple, a contortionist, even, I could, for example, sit him on the floor, with his head leaning back over a chair, start him up and sit on him as I ate or watched TV. When I wanted to punish him for being an insatiable pig, I’d give him a good spanking, I’d make him lie on the floor at the foot of my bed or out on the veranda, stark naked, in midwinter, so that Shirley Gordon could see how I treat men, or else I’d dress him as a woman, make him wear high heels, stockings, a bra, tiny panties that his large genitals spilled out of, makeup and jewelry, and I’d sodomize him with the most ridiculous objects, in the most humiliating positions, I’d piss on him, I’d stick things in his mouth, I’d cover his body with whipped cream which I’d lick off him, I’d smear him with honey and leave him out for the bees, I’d organize parties, and when everyone was drunk I’d give him to my guests to amuse themselves with, I’d lock him in the closet, I’d tell him horrible things, I’d spit on him, I’d shoot him a glare, I’d threaten him, I’d make fun of him, I’d lay him on the ground and walk all over him as if he weren’t there … And when I’d had enough of abusing him, when I felt sorry for him, I’d console him, I’d whisper to him, I’d give him my breasts to suck, I’d stroke him, I’d kiss him all over and ask his forgiveness, I’d promise to do everything he wanted, I’d tell him he’s handsome, that he gives me the most incredible orgasms, that I like seeing him come, that he can fuck me all over, I’d spoil him to death, I’d let him taste all my orifices, I’d make him spurt his yogurt out over the whole house, I’d tell him I’d never had such pleasure, and what’s more, it would be true.
At night I’d sleep in his arms, he’d hold me tight to him, I’d rest my head against his powerfu
l chest, I’d hold his penis in my hand so as not to fall into a pit of nightmares, he’d be there, always, my teddy bear, my wolf, my angel, my demon, my infallible phallus, my knot, my rope, stretching down into the void, the well, from my throat to my sex, my spinal cord, my horse, my game, my prey, my colossus, my god, my fear, my pain, my death, I’d raise an altar in the house dedicated to his body, and that house would be me, my soul, which I’d give to him.
υ
The slut!” Babe exclaimed, totally infuriated.
“That’s dumb,” Carmen observed. “Why did she try to resurrect things with her ex rather than just go out there and find herself a new one?”
“‘Just’ … That’s easy to say … Men always make out they’re up for anything, but when it comes to the crunch …”
“I see … If I’m catching your drift, I could have a long wait before you bring one home for me.”
“Don’t be angry, my darling … You’ll have one tomorrow, I swear.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’ve had enough of this house. No one pays any attention to me. This afternoon I was left locked up here all alone. You’d think I didn’t even exist. It’s a good thing Shirley came to visit …”
“Shirley Gordon? Did you let her in?”
“We had a bit of a chat … She’s so sexy! And very refined … She even read me a poem …”
“You’re playing with me, you little tease …”
“No I’m not. It was a Chippewa poem about a storm breaking: From one half / of the sky / comes the sound / of he who lives there. It’s better than what you make me watch on TV, don’t you think? Look, there she is again!”
Babe heard the front door open and gave a start. She was stretched out on the ethnic throw on the couch, her head resting on the pillow of Carmen’s cool white thighs.
“Honey, are you home?” came Bobby’s voice.
A little later she heard him shout from the garage, but couldn’t make out what he was asking for. Elvis was singing as if on a vinyl record, “Are you lonesome tonight?” Bobby came upstairs and repeated his question from the stairwell:
