The Tale of the Allergist's Wife and Other Plays

by Charles Busch

  MARJORIE Yes, I’m hungry. (An agonized cry.) Hungry for meaning!

  IRA You need food, real food. You made that wonderful meat loaf and didn’t eat a bite. You’re gonna lose potassium. I’m cutting you off a square of this Entenmann’s. Just to nibble. You’ll end up in the hospital with an I.V. at this rate. (Hands her the piece of cake.)

  MARJORIE Thank you, Ira. (Eating a bite and yielding a bit.) It is good.

  The doorbell rings.

  IRA You want me to let your mother in?

  MARJORIE I have a choice? You’re gonna go “poof” and she’ll turn into Simone de Beauvoir?

  Ira opens the door and Marjorie’s mother, FRIEDA, enters. Frieda is a small, shrunken eighty-year-old woman with a cane but tough as cowhide.

  FRIEDA Ira, my love. The greatest son-in-law in the world. (He kisses her.) Give me another kiss. (Frieda sees Marjorie eating.) You should be ashamed of yourself. It’s Yom Kippur. Why aren’t you fasting?

  MARJORIE In my entire life I have never fasted on Yom Kippur.

  FRIEDA That is not true. When she was growing up, we always fasted.

  MARJORIE Never. Not once. There were times when you didn’t even know it was Yom Kippur.

  FRIEDA Marjorie, your memories of your childhood are so distorted with bitterness. If you could see yourself with that farbisseneh face.

  MARJORIE “Farbisseneh”? You didn’t even speak Yiddish till you were sixty-five.

  Ira takes a small laptop computer out from behind an end table.

  FRIEDA I don’t need to justify myself to you. It’s a miracle your daughter found her faith with you as an example.

  MARJORIE Joan is a religious fanatic.

  FRIEDA Because she observes the High Holy Days?

  MARJORIE She’s married to rabbi and lives in Jerusalem.

  FRIEDA She’s a real estate lawyer who happens to be married to a rabbi.

  MARJORIE She wears a sheitel to her condo closings. I’d prefer not to discuss my daughter’s beliefs. Before you began your fast, did you eat the meat loaf I made? It was a special recipe from the Times.

  FRIEDA Marjorie, I told you I had a craving for meat loaf. Just plain meat loaf. I don’t ask for much. This had all sorts of dreck in it. Chestnuts and peas and weird spices.

  MARJORIE I’m sorry. When I’m feeling better, I’ll make you a chicken in a pot exactly the way you like it.

  FRIEDA Just don’t crap it up.

  MARJORIE I won’t!

  FRIEDA Ira, what are you doing?

  MARJORIE He’s always at that damn computer. You got one in your den. You have to mess up my living room?

  IRA I like the view from here. I’m just trying to catch up.

  MARJORIE What do you need to catch up with?

  IRA I didn’t retire to relax. I retired to teach, to give, to impart.

  MARJORIE Are you in one of those chat rooms? What’s going on?

  FRIEDA Marjorie, don’t be a shrike. The world is moving at a clip. The man has to be in constant touch with the scientific community.

  IRA The Internet brings me closer to the heartbeat of my patients. Let me read you this E-mail. It’s from a young woman. “Dear Dr. Taub, During my entire childhood, I never drew a decent breath. My sinus passages were almost completely blocked. My speech was so nasal that I was severely ridiculed in school and nearly flunked out. When I was fifteen years old, the allergy shot program you prescribed changed my entire life. I graduated summa cum laude at Columbia and placed tenth in the New York Marathon. Because of your inspiration, I have pursued a career helping emotionally disturbed children reclaim their spirits through the circus arts. God bless you, Dr. Taub. Mindy Tannenbaum.”

  FRIEDA You are quite a man of achievement. In life there are winners and losers. From the word “go,” Ira, you are a winner. I am a loser.

  IRA You’re not feeling well today?

  FRIEDA The eternal constipation. Truth to be told, I have not had a satisfactory bowel movement in four years. Ira, I had beautiful BMs. Perfectly formed, always regular. You could set a clock to it. I don’t want to discuss it. (She takes a small box out of the basket attached to the walker.)

  MARJORIE What are you looking for, Mother?

  FRIEDA My suppositories. I can’t open the wrapper. That’s what I came in here for. Not for the scintillating conversation. (She hands the suppositories to Marjorie.) Open a bunch of ‘em. I tell you, I’ve had it. Call Dr. Kevorkian.

  MARJORIE I’ve tried. He’s in prison.

  FRIEDA Just my luck. This isn’t a life. Stuck in a craphouse down the hall for everyone’s convenience. Oh God, why don’t I just give up. I am the loser of the world.

  MARJORIE What do you mean, you’re the loser of the world?

  FRIEDA Do I need to tell you? I lost my husband and firstborn son to heart disease. That’s not enough? What should I have expected? As a child I saw my father run down by a milk truck before my very eyes. My mother was insane and went after me with a meat cleaver.

  MARJORIE Aunt Shakie says that never happened.

  FRIEDA Aunt Shakie is a fucking liar. Except for Papa, they all had it in for me. I am the world’s great loser.

  MARJORIE (Trembling with rage.) Oh no, Mother, you are not the world’s greatest loser. Not by a long shot and you know why? Because I am the world’s champion loser. Me!

  IRA Marjorie—

  MARJORIE You say your mother tried to kill you. My mother— my mother did worse. My mother has killed my capacity to dream.

  IRA Not again with the competition. It’s like a broken record with you two.

  MARJORIE Never for a moment has my mother seen anything of value in what I’ve done.

  FRIEDA What have you done?

  MARJORIE That’s it. Nothing. But maybe I could have. She was always encouraging to Bobby. Sending him for lessons, every kind of lesson. Why not me?

  FRIEDA She resents her brother but he was extraordinarily gifted.

  MARJORIE She never gave a thought to my needs, my ambitions.

  FRIEDA She was a dilettante.

  IRA Marjorie, your mother’s a fragile, sick, old woman.

  MARJORIE She’s a knife! A destroyer.

  FRIEDA This is not about me. Or your brother.

  IRA Marjorie is mourning the loss of her psychiatrist. You have to understand—

  FRIEDA This isn’t about kooky Reba what’s-her-name. You are bored, Marjorie. The girls are grown, live miles away. You are bored. So you go into a store, filled with children, erupt into violence and destroy costly figurines.

  MARJORIE This is so simplistic and insulting. You don’t know anything about me. We are strangers!

  FRIEDA You should get off your duff, get dressed and do some volunteer work. Make yourself useful.

  MARJORIE Volunteer work. I should do some volunteer work. I am the queen of volunteer workers, Mother. A brigadier general in the army of volunteers. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past thirty years? Planned Parenthood, Dance Theatre of Harlem. I gave my life’s blood to the Lenox Hill Thrift Shop. Every week, I was in that back room on my hands and knees unpacking every filthy box, sorting through garments stiff from sweat and urine. Every day I saw the other volunteers ransack the shop for any rag with a designer label. Then by chance, buried in a box of moldy paperbacks, I discover a first-edition hardcover English translation of “Siddhartha” in mint condition, still with the original dust jacket, and personally inscribed by Hermann Hesse. I put it aside, making it abundantly clear to everyone that I intended to buy it myself “To buy”—that is the operative phrase here. I come back the next day. “Where’s my book? Where is ‘Siddhartha’?” The manager, Libby Fleishman, says, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot that you put that aside. I sold it to a dealer.” It was an act of deliberate cruelty. I went to the hospital board and exposed Libby’s operation of selling directly to antique dealers and getting a personal cut. They demanded proof but none of the other volunteers would back me up. I was humiliated, disgraced and betr
ayed. So yes, Mother, I have done my share of volunteer work. I have chopped the vegetables, driven the meals on wheels, registered people for the vote, made puppets for the retarded, pushed the hospital cart, stuffed the mailing, licked the envelopes, worked the hot line, sewn the quilt, saved the whales, served everyone’s needs but my own. Well, what about my needs, Mother? Who’s gonna volunteer to save me?

  FRIEDA (Beat.) Oy, I feel so bloated.

  BLACKOUT

  ACT ONE

  SCENE 2

  A few hours later. Marjorie is reclining on the window seat. The doorbell rings.

  MARJORIE Who is it?

  A woman’s voice is heard outside the door.

  WOMAN I’m here to see the apartment.

  MARJORIE Beg your pardon?

  WOMAN I’m here to look at the apartment.

  Marjorie opens the door. LEE GREEN is an energetic, beautifully groomed lady of Marjorie’s age, with a very comfortable sense of her own sensuality.

  MARJORIE I think there must be some mistake.

  LEE This is 12B?

  MARJORIE No. This is 12C. 12B is around the corner.

  LEE Please forgive me for disturbing you. (Peeks her head in.) Nice place. May I?

  MARJORIE I don’t know. I’m not dressed.

  LEE It looks like such a lovely jewel box of a room. Just for a minute?

  MARJORIE All right. Come in. (She shows Lee into the apartment.) Please forgive the way I’m dressed. I’m never usually in my robe this late in the—

  LEE Don’t apologize. Are you having one of those days?

  MARJORIE I can’t even—

  LEE No need to. I’ve spent whole weeks in bed. And you have a view. Have you lived here long?

  MARJORIE Five years. We were around the corner before. I’m sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Marjorie Taub.

  LEE Marjorie. I’m very fond of that name.

  MARJORIE Really?

  LEE When I was a little girl, I had a best friend named Marjorie. Unfortunately, we moved away when I was ten years old. I never saw her again. Lee Green.

  MARJORIE Lee, may I get you something to drink?

  LEE Anything sparkling would be wonderful.

  MARJORIE Seltzer?

  LEE Perfection.

  Marjorie goes over to the kitchen area and pours a glass for Lee.

  LEE I must say the city has changed since I last lived here.

  MARJORIE When was that?

  LEE Well, I gave up my apartment in eighty-six but I’m from New York.

  MARJORIE I’m a native myself. Where did you grow up?

  LEE I’m from decidedly humble origins. The Bronx. Fleetwood.

  MARJORIE Isn’t that funny? That’s where I’m from. We lived in a tiny apartment on Bronx River Road.

  LEE Those Tudor buildings? (Marjorie nods.) Marjorie, you’re not—By any wild coincidence, your maiden name isn’t Marjorie Tuchman?

  MARJORIE Yes.

  LEE Oh my God.

  MARJORIE Lillian?

  LEE Yes.

  MARJORIE Lillian Greenblatt. Oh my God. (They tearfully embrace.) I can’t believe this.

  LEE It’s amazing. After all these years. This is too much.

  MARJORIE I’m stunned.

  LEE The coincidence. I meant it when I said I’ve often thought of you.

  MARJORIE Well, you had a great impact on me. You really did. And your mother. She was so elegant. I can still hear her saying that a lady holds both her teacup and her saucer.

  LEE My poor mother. The Duchess of Fleetwood. Now, I’m assuming you’re married?

  MARJORIE For thirty-two years to Dr. V. Ira Taub. He’s an allergist. He retired this year but he remains very active. He’s started a free clinic for the homeless.

  LEE Admirable. Children?

  MARJORIE We have two daughters. Joan and Rochelle. Here they are. (Marjorie takes a framed photo off a table and hands it to Lee.)

  LEE Very attractive.

  MARJORIE Joan is a successful real estate lawyer. Rochelle is a lot slimmer now.

  LEE Rochelle. She’s the troubled one.

  MARJORIE We’ve had our ups and downs.

  LEE Does she live in the city?

  MARJORIE Ashland, Oregon. She’s a holistic healer. People swear by her. They say she can shrink tumors and cure stuttering.

  LEE Was she always interested in alternative medicine?

  MARJORIE Two years ago she was in a feminist avocado-farming commune. The year before that she had a cabaret act. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. We bring our children into the world to fulfill a fantasy. The creation of the perfect human being. To quote Cocteau, “What are the thoughts of the marble from which a sculptor shapes a masterpiece?” It can’t help but resent all the picking and chipping away.

  LEE You were always such a voracious reader. I always imagined that you became a writer.

  MARJORIE I tried. I wrote a novel. I worked on it for years. It became a joke. Marjorie and her book.

  LEE Tell me about it.

  MARJORIE I’d rather not.

  LEE I’ve waited forty years to find out.

  MARJORIE I don’t want to sound pretentious.

  LEE I am truly interested. Please.

  MARJORIE It was a phantasmagoria. At the time I was heavily influenced by Thomas Pynchon. Some of it was composed as verse drama. There were chapters in various historical periods. Plato and Helen Keller were major characters. Allusions to “Anna Karenina” were woven throughout. I invented an entirely new form of punctuation. I was attempting to break away from conventional narrative structure.

  LEE I’d love to read it.

  MARJORIE I burned every copy.

  LEE Marjorie!

  MARJORIE I don’t need tangible proof of my own mediocrity.

  LEE I’m sure you’re being too harsh.

  MARJORIE Let’s just say that my epic was given the thumbs-down by thirty-two publishers. To be exposed as a sham was devastating.

  LEE Tell me, what’s with the bandage?

  MARJORIE Not what you think. For some unknown reason I went into the Disney Store on Fifth Avenue. I was holding this large figurine and it slipped out of my fingers and smashed on the floor. I was compelled to pick up another. I think it was the Beast, and then it too fell. I couldn’t stop. Hercules, Aladdin’s genie, the Little Mermaid’s father. It looked like a bomb exploded. Ira had to pay a fortune.

  LEE I bet that felt good.

  MARJORIE Stop that. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion.

  LEE I can see with my own eyes that you’re tight as a drum with frustration.

  MARJORIE My situation is far from grim.

  LEE Marjorie, it’s perfectly understandable. Don’t forget. I know your mother. I remember we put on a performance in the playground with all our little friends, “Pippi Longstocking.” All the parents said we were so clever and industrious. Your mother quipped, “This piece of dreck would close in New Haven.” My God, with forty more years of that kind of negativity, no wonder you’ve become a retail terrorist.

  MARJORIE (Emotionally.) You are most presumptuous. How dare you? You don’t know me. You don’t know my mother. How dare you? She’s endured incredible hardships. She was born into degrading poverty. She saw her father run over by a milk truck. Her mother was insane and went after her with a meat cleaver. We never had any money but she always managed to make us feel we were as good as anyone else. I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone put her down!

  LEE Stop. I’m sorry. It was inappropriate for me to mouth off like that. I suppose I don’t know you. How could I after all these years? It’s just that in my mind our relationship has never really ended. I carry the memory of the wondrous, magical child that you were like a talisman. Can we start again? Friends?

  MARJORIE Friends. I’m sorry I blew up. Now, it’s my turn to be the Grand Inquisitor. I hope you can take it. So Lil, you changed your name?

  LEE Lillian Greenblatt wasn’t terribly euphonious. It’s so—shall we say it? So
Jewish. I’m sorry. I just don’t identify. Never have. Call me a terrible person. I hope I’m not offending you.

  MARJORIE No, I’m with you. I’ve always sought spirituality on a more individual basis. Joan, my eldest, is deeply religious. She’s married to a rabbi and lives in Israel. She calls herself Jonaya Taub-Ben-Shalom. I’ve just always felt alienated from every group, be it Jewish, American, the West Side Wine Tasters.

  LEE I’ve never even been a part of a couple.

  MARJORIE You never married?

  LEE Lee has led a totally selfish life, and had a helluva good time.

  MARJORIE May I ask what do you do for a living?

  LEE Oh gosh, what haven’t I done? I’ve been in public relations. I’ve been an international food critic. Written a couple of coffee table books. “Balinese Masks.” That sort of thing. I worked for several years for Chanel in Paris. For a while I ran a small discotheque in Hong Kong. I helped open a museum of contemporary art in Berlin. And I ran a clam bar outside Mendocino. Now I fund-raise for political organizations.

  MARJORIE My, you’ve really been an adventuress. I would have loved to have traveled more. It’s been hard with Ira’s practice.

  LEE I live for travel. Mainland China, a revelation. Changed my entire perspective of the world, of the very essence of life itself.

  MARJORIE Did you go there alone?

  LEE No, I went with the Nixons. I was covering the event for a small gourmet food magazine.

  MARJORIE Oh my. Did you get to know the Nixons?

  LEE Yes, I did. I didn’t agree with them politically but I grew very fond of Pat. In fact I was the first person that Pat Nixon phoned after the resignation. I felt as if I was in the midst of a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.

  MARJORIE And you lived in Berlin. That must have been fascinating. I am a great devote of twentieth-century German fiction. My favorite author is Hermann Hesse. My favorite book is “Siddhartha.”

  LEE I’ve read every word he wrote. “Demian,” “Steppenwolf,” “Magister Ludi.” The examination of the dark side.

  MARJORIE So many people seem to—I don’t know—live on the surface. Black is black, white is white. I delve, I reflect, I brood.

  LEE You’re a figure of shadow and light.

  MARJORIE I have also found great solace in the writings of Heinrich Böll, Günter Grass, Thomas Mann.