The Tale of the Allergist's Wife and Other Plays

by Charles Busch

  R.G. Oh, it was given to me as a gift a long time ago. You can’t even get it in this country. It’s called “Moscow Breeze.”

  MARY I believe I met a girl who wears the perfume.

  R.G. You must mean Marta Towers. A lovely girl. Really unfair, the scandalous rumors that follow . . .

  R.G. continues to talk but his dialogue is drowned out by cacophonous music and Mary’s thoughts.

  MARY (Voiceover.) He’s in on it. Part of the conspiracy. A communist. Unspeakable. Unspeakable.

  The music fades out. Mary’s face instantly switches from hysteria to a calm facade.

  R.G. Feeling any better, Mary?

  MARY Oh yes. Everything is much clearer now. I think I’m ready to resume the number.

  R.G. Good girl. Shall we begin our new realism now and have the cameraman remove some of those filters?

  MARY (Archly.) Let’s not be hasty.

  R.G. (Laughs.) You’re quite a gal, Mary. Quite a gal. (He exits.)

  Mary returns to the set, the playback begins again and she stares at R.G., his back to her, with great suspicion.

  END OF SCENE 1

  ACT TWO

  SCENE 2

  The Radio Station. Pat Pilford is standing before the mike.

  PAT Hey, has Mary Dale arrived yet? Hello? Can anybody hear me? My guest today, Mary Dale . . . Forget it.

  TECHNICIAN (Voiceover.) Miss Pilford. Could you give us something for a sound check?

  PAT Coitenly.

  Mitchell Drake enters.

  PAT One, two, three, four. (She sings to the tune of “Over the Rainbow.”) Somewhere over my boobies, Bluebirds crapped. (In a stuffy British accent.) Thank you, Lord and Lady Mumsford. (As herself.) That’s it, kids. Anymore of Aunt Patty’s ditties you pay for.

  MITCHELL (Applauds her.) The same old Pat. The funniest gal in the world. You really ought to visit my psychiatrist-friend, Dr. Hans Mueller. His theory “Dirty jokes as a sexual deterrent” fits you like Dotty Lamour’s sarong.

  PAT I’d like to know how you got in here.

  MITCHELL Doors have a way of opening for me.

  PAT If you’re here for the broadcast, we won’t be starting for several minutes.

  MITCHELL You can knock off the great lady schtick. I told you I’d be seeing you.

  PAT You really are the most contemptible . . .

  MITCHELL I said knock it off.

  PAT And now?

  MITCHELL That’s better. (Picks up her hand.) Yes, you had beautiful hands. I’d forgotten that. (Kisses her fingers.)

  PAT (Afraid she’ll give in.) Please, Mitch, please don’t do that.

  MITCHELL Why? Because you’ll forget you’re the slapstick Statue of Liberty. You miss me, don’t you?

  PAT I miss the fellow who wasn’t so twisted with hate.

  MITCHELL Yes, I hate. I hate those who would deny me my right to build a better world.

  PAT And I hate those that seek to destroy everything I hold sacred. But you don’t frighten me, Mitch. Your automatons can infiltrate all of our industries but the American people will never capitulate their freedoms.

  MITCHELL You really believe this crap you dish out on the radio every week.

  PAT Of course I do.

  MITCHELL That’s too bad because you’re about to switch sides.

  PAT You’re out of your mind.

  MITCHELL No, but very lucky. I have in my possession some entertaining photographs taken fifteen years ago of a nubile Pat Pilford, America’s own, performing some of the most disgusting, degrading sexual acts imaginable.

  PAT Acts you made me do.

  MITCHELL And you loved every minute of it.

  PAT What are you planning to do with those photos?

  MITCHELL I could be persuaded to lock them away forever. If and I say if, you cooperate with the party.

  PAT You really are out of your mind. Besides no publication would ever print such filth.

  MITCHELL We wouldn’t need to publish them. They’d be distributed by our network of followers to every town and city in the old U.S. of A. And with that memorable mug of yours, there would be no doubt as to the frisky model’s identity.

  Pat breaks down in tears.

  MITCHELL I hate seeing you cry, Pat. (He tries to hand her his handkerchief, she flinches.) You had to be stopped.

  PAT (With rising egomania.) I suppose this order came from party headquarters in Moscow.

  MITCHELL Don’t flatter yourself. I have a creative mind. I have after all, won a Pulitzer prize. I can certainly figure out how to shut up one gabby comedienne.

  PAT All right. You’ve silenced my voice. Now get out of here.

  MITCHELL We’re not quite finished yet. You’re going to fire your writing staff.

  PAT But why? They’re the best gagmen in the business.

  MITCHELL You’re all ready going to be gagged, baby. The party has new writers for you and will deliver you a polished script every week, starting with this one. (He hands her a script.)

  PAT I’d never read this garbage. You won’t make me a commie tool.

  MITCHELL Remember the night you said “cheeze.”

  PAT I’m a famous conservative. The public will never believe I’d turn around so completely.

  MITCHELL It’ll be subtle at first. A gradual coming to your senses. You better go over your lines. We want you to be convincing. Oh, look, you’ve got a nice big studio audience coming in. Pat, you always were a sell out. See ya, kid.

  As Mitchell exits, Mary enters carrying her script.

  MITCHELL Hello Mary.

  MARY Mr. Drake, I have nothing to say to you.

  MITCHELL If only Gogol could have written about you. So lovely and so absurd.

  MARY (Smugly.) Who’s this Mr. Gogol? A fellow traveler?

  She walks past him to Pat. Mitchell shakes his head in disbelief and exits.

  MARY Pat darling. I’m sorry I’m late. What was Mitchell Drake doing here?

  PAT Was that Mitchell Drake? I’ve never met him.

  MARY What’s wrong, Pat. You’re as white as this paper.

  PAT I always get the willies. We should be on the air any minute.

  MARY Pat, you won’t believe what I’ve been through. What I’ve seen, what I’ve heard.

  PAT Shhhhh, we can’t talk now.

  MARY I know, we can’t . . . it’s just that . . . Pat, I’m in the middle of a communist conspiracy. Frank, Marta, R.G. Benson, Mitchell Drake. I need your help. You’re so strong. Tell me what to do.

  PAT (Urgently.) Do nothing.

  MARY What?

  PAT Do nothing. You don’t know these people. How far they’ll go.

  MARY That’s so unlike you.

  PAT You wanted my advice. Well, that’s it. Whatever happens, keep silent.

  DIRECTOR (Voiceover.) Ladies, we’ll be starting in thirty seconds.

  MARY Pat, something’s bothering you. What is it?

  PAT I told you nothing’s wrong.

  MARY You’re trembling.

  PAT (Sharply.) Mary, I’m about to do a show. Be a professional and stop wasting my time with your silly paranoia.

  DIRECTOR (Voiceover.) Fifteen seconds to air.

  PAT Oh Mary, the script has been rewritten somewhat. Just a few of my lines. Nothing major. It doesn’t affect you.

  DIRECTOR (Voiceover.) Five, four, three, two.

  PAT Here we go.

  ANNOUNCER (Voiceover.) The Veedol Motor Oil Program with Pat Pilford. (Applause/Music.) Makers of Veedol Motor Oil, found wherever fine cars travel, present Miss Show Business, Pat Pilford. With Emmaline Crane, Jimmy Stall and special guest stars Mary Dale, Olson and Johnson, Helen Traubel, the Ames Brothers, Yours truly Bill Simmons and Victor Arnold and his Chiffon Orchestra. And now your fabulous femm-cee, Pat Pilford.

  PAT (Reading from the new script.) Welcome comrades.

  Mary is startled but tries to ignore it.

  PAT For the sake of variety, I’d like to skip my usual opening and bring out my special gue
st, lovely film star, Mary Dale. Besides, I know I’ve been boring you to tears these past months with my idiotic red baiting. I don’t know a fool thing about politics. Please ignore anything I may have said. Believe me, I was wrong, wrong, wrong! Mary, come on out here Mary. Mary Dale. (Applause.) How are ya, darlin’?

  MARY (Reading from her script.) Marvelous. I’m so glad we could finally get together on your show. Pat, you look fantastic, but if you get any blonder, the studio won’t need light bulbs.

  PAT (Reading from the new script.) Interesting that you should mention that, dear. I’ve decided today to let my hair go back to it’s natural mousey brown color. I’m beginning to realize that hair dye and make-up are simply capitalist tools that blind women to ideological realities.

  MARY (Reading her script, very perplexed.) Thank you Pat. I loved making that picture. When are we going to do one together? I’m dying to do a wild slapstick comedy but it will be in my contract that I throw the pies.

  PAT That would be such a waste of good food. Food that could be divided equally among the working class. The more I think about it, darling, bakers should unite and deny the rich their decadent cakes and cookies.

  MARY (Realizing that none of her lines make sense in this context.) I love this dress too. It’s a Don Loper original.

  PAT Mary, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this moment to tell my listeners what exactly is going on in this country. My dear comrades, we are in the grip of a . . .

  Mary looks at Pat aghast as Pat reads her communist propaganda. Threatening music overpowers Pat so we can no longer hear her. Over the music, Mary’s thoughts are heard.

  MARY (Voiceover.) This can’t be real. Not Pat. She couldn’t be one of them. All of them pinkos, all of them red.

  The music fades out.

  PAT My, it feels good getting that off my chest. Now Mary, tell us about . . .

  Mary starts to move away from the mike.

  PAT Mary, come a little closer, dear. We’re losing you.

  MARY (Distraught.) I’m sorry. I forgot something . . . I . . . I . . . I’ve got to run. (Mary runs out of the studio.)

  PAT Mary!

  END OF SCENE

  ACT TWO

  SCENE 3

  The beach house. A short time later.

  Frank is waiting for her. He’s reading a book. A small gift box is on the coffee table next to him.

  Mary enters SR door, holding her purse.

  MARY Frank, you’re home.

  FRANK (Puts the book on the coffee table open.) I’ve been here for hours, waiting, hoping you’d come back soon.

  MARY (Puts her purse down on the SR level.) You look tired.

  FRANK Please take me back, Mary. I’m so miserable. How could I have been such a fool to think what they had to offer was real. It was all an illusion.

  MARY Marta Towers is hardly an illusion.

  FRANK I hate her. I wish she were dead. Believe me, Mary, I was never unfaithful. I couldn’t go through with it. I love you so.

  MARY (Very confused.) Frank, I’d like to believe that. (Giving in.) Oh darling, come here. (They embrace.) How can two people who love each other as we do be so silly.

  FRANK Is it possible for you to forgive me? They don’t come lower than me.

  MARY (Emotionally.) Of course I forgive you. You’re my husband. I made a vow.

  FRANK (Passionately.) It’s this town. Come away with me, Mary. New York, London, anywhere.

  MARY I will darling. Anywhere. My poor lost boy.

  FRANK It’s going to be different. I’m going to change. I will. Starting tonight.

  MARY Tonight?

  FRANK Do you smell something cooking?

  MARY Yes.

  FRANK It’s called dinner. And I’m cooking it myself. I gave Selina and all the servants the night off. Wanted you all to myself. I have so much to make up to you.

  MARY (Playfully.) You were awfully confident that I’d forgive you.

  FRANK I wasn’t confident. I got on my knees and prayed.

  MARY Did you, Frank? And to what God?

  FRANK Your Lord, Mary. Now, madame, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the kitchen to check up on my sauce reductions. (He clicks his heels like a butler.)

  MARY (Laughing.) Oh my. Taggart, you may go.

  FRANK Yes, mum. (He exits SL door.)

  MARY (Lighting up a cigarette.) They may all be communists but not my husband. Not my Frank. (Calling to the kitchen.) Will we be eating soon, darling?

  FRANK I can’t hear you, dear.

  MARY (Calling offstage.) How soon will we be eating? Do I have time to call my aunt in Indiana?

  FRANK (Offstage.) Darling, I’m sorry I can’t understand you. I’ll be right out.

  MARY (Laughs, sits in the chair SR and picks up phone on the SR level to dial.) Hello . . . Hello . . . That’s odd.

  FRANK (Enters SL door.) Darling, what is it you asked me?

  MARY The telephone’s dead. I can’t even get an operator.

  FRANK Give it to me. (He takes the phone.) You’re right. Dead as my last picture. I’ll go next door and report it on the Stewart’s line.

  MARY No, no, no. You’re busy cooking. I suppose for ten hours we could do without the blasted telephone. It’ll be a pleasure.

  FRANK You’re so pretty. (He kisses her forehead. Exits SL door.)

  MARY This coffee table is a mess. (She crosses to coffee table and picks up book.) “Cousin Bette” by Balzac. Oh my. (She opens it where Frank left the marker.) Shame on him. Scribbling in the margin. “. . . poisoned by a prick of a needle in the clasp of her necklace.” How ghastly. (She closes book and puts it down on the coffee table.) Give me Fanny Hearst any day. (She picks up jewelry box from coffee table.) What’s this? (She opens box.) Oh, how lovely. (She takes necklace out of box, crosses right and holds necklace up. Her face is away from the audience. Sound cue. She turns towards the audience, her face a mask of sudden fear and terror.)

  FRANK (Enters SL door.) Oh, you found it. I wanted to surprise you with it after dinner. They’re exquisite, aren’t they?

  MARY (Trying to compose herself.) Yes.

  FRANK They’ll be even more perfect once they’re around your neck. (He tries to stroke her neck, she moves away.) You pulled away.

  MARY Did I?

  FRANK I think we should put these on you now. Get a special preview.

  MARY No, I don’t think so.

  FRANK Why don’t you want to put them on, Mary? Pearls are your favorite.

  MARY Is there a reason why I shouldn’t put them on?

  FRANK None in the world. They were specially designed for you.

  MARY That’s what I thought.

  FRANK I can put them on for you. It’s a simple clasp. (He moves closer to her.) Why are you moving away, Mary?

  MARY Darling I really don’t want to put them on. Please dear. Put them down.

  FRANK (With a quiet urgency.) I can’t Mary. I have to do this. I don’t want to. They’ve made me. They’re bigger than we are. We can’t fight ‘em. This is the way it has to end. Please, darling, don’t fight me.

  MARY Darling, there must be another way. You love me. You must have loved me once. Please, Frank, it’s me, Mary. Frank! Don’t. Don’t.

  Frank grabs her. She tries to fight him off. She bites his hand but he continues to try to put the necklace around her neck. In their struggle, he drops the necklace and finally grabs her around the throat and starts to strangle her. When she appears to be on the brink of death, Frank suddenly wakes up and realizes he’s about to murder his beloved wife. He breaks away in horror.

  FRANK What am I doing? What have I become?

  Frank staggers and runs out. He exits SR door. Mary is panting for breath. The cacophonous music starts again and Mary in her hysteria hears threatening voices.)

  MARY (Voiceover.) Frank, what’s happened to us?

  FRANK (Voiceover.) We can’t fight ‘em. This is the way it has to end.

  PAT (Voiceover.) Whatever happen
s, keep silent.

  MARTA (Voiceover.) So the good little wife finally wakes up.

  BARKER (Voiceover.) Stars who defy the system will be eliminated.

  MARY Stop! Stop!

  R.G. (Voiceover.) It’s called “Moscow Breeze.”

  FRANK (Voiceover.) We can’t fight ‘em. (ECHOES over and over.)

  MITCHELL (Voiceover.) Grow some hair on your balls!

  PAT (Voiceover.) Keep silent! (ECHOES over and over.)

  MARY (Collapses on the steps. Hysterical.) Trapped. Desperate. In a trap. No exit . . . No exit.

  Mary runs over to find her purse. She rummages through it until she finds the vial of pills that R.G. gave her at the studio. She empties the pills into her hand and tosses them into her mouth. She then grabs the bottle of whiskey off the bar tray and chases down the pills with liquor. She stumbles and staggers to center stage, the pills kicking in. The music underscoring her hysteria reaches a pitch of dissonance and the lighting becomes distorted and full of swirling shapes. At last she collapses to the ground unconscious. The music turns dreamlike and the lighting covers everything with a golden hue. Two young pages in medieval garb enter with gold banners. They place the banners above the two doorways SR and SL and exit. Marta enters SR dressed in medieval costume. In Mary’s dream, she is LADY PRUDWEN, lady-in-waiting to Lady Godiva. She enters carrying a voluminous gold robe and cone-like medieval headdress. Mary rises in her dream confounded by the spectacle before her.)

  LADY PRUDWEN (Dressing Mary in the gold robe and headdress.) Milady Godiva, we must make haste and dress you in your ceremonial robes. The very same robes you wore to last years Academy Awards governors ball.

  MARY But I’m not Lady Godiva!

  LADY PRUDWEN Shhh, Milady.

  PAGES cross DS steps and strike props, both side units, and flip in SR chair. Settee remains.

  Enter SL: ARNOLPH (Mitchell), BALDRIC (Barker), & LEOFRIC (Frank) all in medieval costume.

  ARNOLPH The king must die! He shall ride to the cathedral to hear his Sunday mass and there upon the Cathedral steps, he shall meet his assassin’s sword.

  BALDRIC And by the following morn you, Leofric, will be crowned King of all England.

  LEOFRIC (Panicked.) But good sirs, the people do love King Edward. They will not be pleased to see him replaced.