Connecting Dots

by Sharon Jennings

  “Nope. Don’t want you to see that next part.”

  “Because it’s about me! You’d better not say anything mean!”

  I put my hand on my heart. “Told the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.”

  “Huh!”

  “But I do have something else. I wrote a play. Mary and Peter keep telling me to express myself. So I did. Not quite what they meant, but…here.”

  CHOKE:

  A One-Act Play by Cassandra Jovanovich

  Characters:

  CeeJay (a girl in grade six)

  Eva (a girl in grade six)

  Peter (CeeJay’s guardian; a professor; wears glasses)

  Setting:

  CeeJay’s house: very modern with a sunken living room

  Act 1: Scene 1

  Living room. CeeJay is watching out window upstage center. She turns and runs offstage left.

  Eva: (offstage) Man! It’s wet.

  CeeJay: (offstage) Yeah, yeah. You brought them? (Sound of door closing.)

  Eva: (Entering, taking off coat) I said I would. (Pulls something out of pocket) Ta-dah!

  CeeJay: (Entering behind) Export A? You’re kidding me!

  Eva: Hey! I gave our money to this guy and that’s what he bought. Take it or leave it.

  CeeJay: (Takes packet of cigarettes and pulls off wrapping) Here. You got matches?

  Eva: Uh…

  CeeJay: Never mind. Peter smokes like a chimney. I’ll find some. (Pulls out side table drawer) Yes! Let’s do it.

  Eva: Can you light a match?

  CeeJay: Are you nuts?

  Eva: I can’t light matches. I even flunked my Brownie badge.

  CeeJay: So how are you going to be a smoker if you can’t light up?

  Eva: (Shrugging) I’ll find someone. There’s always someone.

  CeeJay: (Sighs. Sound of scraping) It’s easy. See? (Blows it out) Hand me a smoke.

  Eva: (Giggling) A smoke. You sound like a pro.

  CeeJay: If we’re gonna do this, we have to sound cool. Look cool, too. (Puts cigarette in mouth and moves to large mirror on wall downstage right) Here. (Gives cigarette to Eva, strikes second match and lights both)

  Eva: (Inhales deeply and coughs)

  CeeJay: (Inhales and coughs)

  Eva: Oh man. It burns!

  CeeJay: (Inhales and coughs again) Keep trying. (Stares at self in mirror while continuing to inhale and cough) We can’t go to a party and smoke if we look stupid.

  Eva: Well…we look awful!

  CeeJay: Shut up. Just do it. We don’t have all day.

  (Girls practice inhaling, blowing smoke, tilting head up, down, sideways; coughing persists)

  CeeJay: You can’t grip it like that. You have to hold it like…like a movie star. Like Bette Davis. (Demonstrates perfect hold and with hand in air moves across stage to downstage left)

  Eva: Wow. You actually look like a movie star!

  CeeJay: (Shrugs and takes a drag) Well, after all… (Suddenly she puts her hand on her stomach)

  Eva: What is it? What’s wrong? (Dashes over)

  CeeJay: Air…. Outside…. I’m going to… (Dashes to door. Sounds of vomiting heard offstage)

  Eva: (Hurries offstage; shrieks) You’re green!

  Peter: (offstage) What’s going on here? CeeJay? Go inside this minute!

  (Three characters enter)

  Peter: (Sees cigarettes) What the…CeeJay? (Deep breath) Were you smoking in here?

  CeeJay: No! I mean…

  Eva: I’d better be go….

  Peter: You’re not going anywhere. Sit down. Both of you.

  (Girls sit on sofa downstage right)

  Peter: Well?

  Eva: We just wanted to try it because –

  CeeJay: (Interrupting) For homework. For a project.

  Peter: I wasn’t born yesterday, CeeJay.

  CeeJay: No, really. For school. About…about the evils of smoking. Why we shouldn’t do it. We just wanted –

  Eva: First-hand experience.

  CeeJay: Yeah.

  Peter: Hmmm. Okay. I’ll buy it. (Picks up package, takes out two cigarettes, lights them) Here. Let’s see you. No! Wait! I’ll get the camera and take a picture. The teacher will love it! (Runs offstage)

  Eva: Think he believes us?

  CeeJay: Are you an idiot? He teaches at a university!

  Peter: (Hurries in with camera) Okay….Now! Inhale. Both of you. Atta girls.

  CeeJay: (Inhales and coughs)

  Peter: (Snaps picture: flash goes off)

  CeeJay: (Hands cigarette to Peter) Okay. What’s the deal?

  Peter: Deal? Why, whatever do you mean?

  CeeJay: Cut it out. You caught us, and you have proof.

  Eva: (Hands cigarette to Peter) My mom will kill me.

  Peter: Are you ever going to do this again?

  CeeJay and Eva: No.

  Peter: Yeah, right.

  CeeJay: I said no, and I mean it. You want to know why? Because I looked stupid. In the mirror, I mean. (Brandishes hand at mirror on wall) There’s no point if you don’t look cool.

  Peter: (Looks at both girls hard) Okay. I believe you. So here’s the deal. I won’t tell. But I’ll keep the photo and if I ever smell smoke on you, you’ll be sorry. Oh…and I get to keep the cigs. Not my brand, but what the hell. (Exit, stage right)

  Eva: Can we trust him?

  CeeJay: I think so. He’s a smoker. So that means he probably did what we did when he was our age.

  Eva: You gonna try it again?

  CeeJay: (Shaking head) You mean, go to some party and throw up? Nope. (Raises fist in air like Scarlett O’Hara) As God is my witness, I’ll never smoke again!

  THE END

  Goody-goody Leanna was shocked. “For real? You did this for real?”

  I tried to look cool. “But of course, chérie.”

  “But, I mean, didn’t you get in trouble? Not just what you put in your play?”

  I shrugged. “Peter and Mary both smoke and all their friends do, too. So they weren’t really mad. Actually, I know Peter told Mary. I heard them laughing. I just know they were laughing about me.” I grinned.

  “Are you still happy, Cassandra?”

  “Yeah. It’s weird. Their lives are so different from anything I ever knew. Sometimes I feel like I’m from another country. I mean they talk politics till I can’t stop yawning. The people who come over – so serious. When I tell them I want to be an actress, they look like I’m beneath them. But, Leanna! Some of the boys are so cute. And they wear clothes from Carnaby Street and bring over records I’ve never heard. I have a crush on one guy, but he’s twenty-three! His name is Sebastian and he has really long hair and he wears black all the time. Mary says he’s a beatnik. I told him I’m in love with The Monkees – Davy Jones the most – and he said he’d like to help me broaden my mind.”

  Leanna frowned. “But then, if it’s all so great…why’d you take Mary’s ring?”

  “She says their home is my home….This sweater is hers, too. Do you like it? I can sneak it back before she knows. I made sure to put on lots of deodorant so I wouldn’t B.O. it up.”

  Leanna gave me a funny look.

  “What?” I said.

  “You said you wouldn’t steal anymore. You promised.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not stealing. I’m putting it back. And what’s it to you?”

  She looked like she might cry. “Because I don’t want a friend who steals and smokes and…and…. And because you promised. You vowed. You said you’d start fresh. You said – ”

  “You are so annoying Leanna Mets!”

  “Fine! Then go be best friends with Eva! Go hang around with the cool kids! And beatniks! See if I care!”

  �
�You’re just jealous. Admit it.”

  I thought she was going to yell again, but she sort of collapsed. “I am. I am jealous. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you smoking with Eva and getting into trouble. I hardly ever see you anymore, Cassandra. And I miss you. Really and truly from the depths of my heart.”

  Oh, brother.

  “Fine. I don’t know why I took her stuff. Okay? Feel better? I don’t have to do that anymore.” I had an idea. “Can I borrow a top? I’ll take off Mary’s sweater right now.”

  I pulled it over my head.

  “Oh, my goodness!!!! What are you wearing????”

  Leanna meant my new pink bra with red rosebuds. “Mary bought it for me. She said a lot of women don’t want to wear bras anymore. Something about a show.”

  “Chauvinism,” Leanna stuck in. “I’m not exactly certain what it means, but it’s something about boys thinking they’re better than us.”

  “Mary talks a lot about men controlling women. She said it was my decision to wear a bra or not.” I turned this way and that in the mirror. I could give myself cleavage if I squished myself together!

  “I had…something happen this week,” Leanna said. “I went after school to Simpson’s.”

  Leanna’s mom works downtown in Simpson’s Inner Foundations – bras and girdles and underwear.

  “My mom was helping two older women – sisters – in the change room. I was waiting for her to finish because we were going for supper. She asked me to get another size and gave me the box and when I brought it back…” Leanna gulped. “I saw…”

  “Them naked?”

  She shook her head. “No. They had bras on. I saw their arms. They had these things. Numbers. And I stared. I couldn’t help it. And that’s when one of them – she saw me staring – and she said ‘Auschwitz.’ I didn’t know what she meant. She could see that and so she said ‘The Nazis did this to us. To our family.’ And then I knew because I’ve read Anne Frank. But…oh, Cassandra! To see it! On their arms! I felt sick. It was suddenly so real. Not just in a book. It was awful.” Leanna grabbed my arm and pointed. “There. To have a number – not even your name…. Could you imagine it, Cassandra? If it happened to us?”

  I hugged her. “Don’t. Don’t think about it.” She squeezed me back tight. Stuff gets to Leanna. “Let’s have some tea, okay?” We got out mugs and boiled water. “They talk about war all the time. Peter and Mary. They went to a meeting, a huge meeting, last summer at a university in California. Berkeley. All kinds of famous people were there. Actors and writers, too. They don’t believe in it – the war in Vietnam. And they tell me about the protests. And…” I stopped trying to figure it out, what I wanted to say. “They’re so serious, and I know it’s important, and I don’t want more people tattooed with numbers. But…you’re gonna think I’m terrible.”

  She shook her head.

  “Because they’re going back to Berkeley again this summer. They say stuff is really happening in San Francisco. They said I could go with them. They said it’s their duty to make me aware of what is going on in the world. I care about all that stuff. Of course I do! But…I’ll feel like a cheat if I go. Because I just want to see Hollywood. I just want to be an actress. Not all this other stuff.”

  Leanna put down her mug with a bang. “Don’t. Don’t you dare feel terrible! Mary and Peter are doing what they want to do. They made a choice. Now it’s your turn. And if they say express yourself, then they are phoney-baloneys if they only want you to do what they want.”

  Right. She’s right. She has to be right.

  “The play’s next week. Then we’ll see. If I bomb, then…you know that song? ‘California Dreaming’? Well, that’ll be me. Just dreaming.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Kids for Kids Theater Company was doing the play in the Eaton Auditorium. It’s on the seventh floor over Eaton’s College Street. I’d only been on dinky stages in elementary schools. Or in a church. This was a professional stage and I never wanted to leave.

  We went over and over all the scenes, stopping and starting for lighting cues. Changing our positions. Getting used to talking and moving on a stage so much bigger than where we practiced. The director sat in the back row and interrupted if she couldn’t hear us or if we didn’t enunciate. And if we weren’t onstage, we sat in the seats and pretended to be the audience. But I loved hanging out backstage and watching the men switch props and change lights and move scenery.

  I was the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz – the funny part. When I heard the stagehands laugh, I was on fire. We finished the dress rehearsal and all of us wanted to get something to eat – with our makeup on to show off.

  “Absolutely not!” the director yelled. “Nothing says amateur like leaving the theater in makeup.”

  Oh, like we’re supposed to know.

  We scrubbed at the grease paint with great gobs of cream and ran out into the night. Six of us went to Diana Sweets and we ordered bacon and tomato sandwiches and Orange Crush and pretended this was Broadway.

  “We should call ourselves the How-Great-We-Are Club!” said Jean (the Wicked Witch of the West).

  And we laughed loud and long because, together, after rehearsal, downtown on Yonge Street, we were IT. Could anyone be happier than us?

  Diana Sweets has a box with toy rings they give away at the cash and we each picked a different color and decided they were our good luck charms. No matter how rich and famous we became, we’d never take them off. Friends forever!

  We decided to walk up Yonge to the Bloor subway. Heather stopped in front of a door and called us. “Come back! Look! It’s a strip club!”

  We all ran back and stared at the pictures on the front – women wearing funny things on their bosoms and teensy tiny underwear.

  “Eww,” said Jean. “What are those?”

  “Tassels and G-strings,” said Martha. “That’s what strippers wear. You are so naïve!”

  Martha’s in seventh grade and a real know-it-all.

  “Tacky,” Heather said, pulling her rabbit-fur collar up and doing a stage shiver.

  There were eight photos of women and they had names like Velvet and Dee-Dee-Licious and Kitty Cat and…

  La Senorita.

  The others saw me staring.

  “Oh, wow! Red hair, Cassie. A relative?”

  Shut up, Martha. Shut up. Shut up.

  “Yeah, right,” I sneered. “Shut up, Martha.”

  The door opened, and a man with greasy hair and a scar on his cheek yelled at us to shove off. He lit up a cigarette and said, “Unless you got something to offer? Huh?” He blew smoke in our faces.

  We ran.

  I didn’t tell Mary. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat, either.

  Mary was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d get stage jitters, Cassie. But a little nervous energy is a good thing before a show.”

  I let her go on talking, misunderstanding.

  The next day, on my way to the theater, I went back. A woman with bright yellow hair was leaning against the door. “What’s up kid? Lookin’ for a job?”

  I shook my head. “I…I have a message for someone. In there.”

  “Well you can’t come in. You’re a minor. Give me the message. Who should I give it to?”

  “No. It has to be private. The…the man said so.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself. We get dinner break about seven. Between shows. Best bet, go to the back door around the corner.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

  I ran down Yonge to College Street and took the elevator to the theater.

  Into makeup. Hurry! Into costume. Hurry! Hurry! Backstage. Wait for cue. Plan. Think.

  Anyone should know what happened.

  I blanked. I missed my cue. When they pushed me on, I froze. Could not remember my lines. Nothing. I s
tared at the other actors as if they were strangers. They stared back at me. I peered out into the black depths of the theater. Nothing.

  Finally Dorothy hissed at me and somehow I woke up. Somehow I said something funny about not having any courage.

  The director glared at me when I went offstage. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  But of course I knew. Rita. SenoRITA happened to me. Ruining my life. Again.

  After the show, Mary and Peter talked about stage fright and how I shouldn’t worry, and I nodded and mumbled and pretended. They wanted to take me out for dinner, but I said I was going with my friends. Back to Diana Sweets. They went to do some work at the campus, and I promised to meet them by eight for the ride home.

  I couldn’t get rid of Leanna. She saw the others go off without me. She heard them making jokes about me.

  “You are not going to Diana Sweets with them so don’t pretend.”

  “Fine. I want to be alone.”

  “Right. I’m not leaving you alone. You’re up to something. I can tell.”

  I thought about running. Losing her in the steady stream of shoppers. But to tell the truth, I was nervous. “Fine. Tag along if you want.”

  We crossed Yonge Street and walked a block farther east and into a back alley. It was dark and filled with garbage cans. I swear I saw rats. We almost stepped on a man lying on the cement, an empty bottle by his head. I could smell vomit.

  Leanna grabbed my arm. “What are we doing here? You tell me right now. Right now. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Just shut up, okay?” I whispered. “And leave the talking to me.”

  I saw the door and a faded sign under a dim light bulb. Burlesque A-Go-Go. I pointed to the photo of La Senorita.

  Leanna pushed her glasses up her nose and peered. Then she spun around. “Your mother? You think she’s your mother?!”

  “I don’t know! It could be. Older. But red hair, blue eyes. Pretty. I can’t remember. But…” Why oh, why did I rip up my one and only photo of her?!

  The back door opened and three women came out.

  I stepped up to the one with red hair. I opened my mouth. And did my second blank of the day.

  “What is it honey?”