by Ayn Rand
MISS SAYERS: My brother was a fool. [Sits down] I’ve always known he’d end up like this.
FARROW: [Cautiously] I must admit I have not been able to learn all the unfortunate details. How did Mr. Sayers meet his death?
MISS SAYERS: [Glancing at him sharply] Mr. Farrow, your time is valuable. So is mine. I did not come here to answer questions. In fact, I did not come here to speak to you at all. I came to find Miss Gonda. It is most urgent.
FARROW: Miss Sayers, let us get this clear. I have been trying to get in touch with you since early this morning. You must know who started these rumors. And you must realize how utterly preposterous it is. Miss Gonda happens to have dinner with your brother last night. He is found dead, this morning, with a bullet through him. . . . Most unfortunate and I do sympathize, believe me, but is this ground enough for a suspicion of murder against a lady of Miss Gonda’s standing? Merely the fact that she happened to be the last one seen with him?
MISS SAYERS: And the fact that nobody has seen her since.
FARROW: Did she . . . did she really do it?
MISS SAYERS: I have nothing to say about that.
FARROW: Was there anyone else at your house last night?
MISS SAYERS: I have nothing to say about that.
FARROW: But good God! [Controlling himself] Look here, Miss Sayers, I can well understand that you may not wish to give it out to the press, but you can tell me, in strict confidence, can’t you? What were the exact circumstances of your brother’s death?
MISS SAYERS: I have given my statement to the police.
FARROW: The police refuse to disclose anything!
MISS SAYERS: They must have their reasons.
FARROW: Miss Sayers! Please try to understand the position I’m in! I’m entitled to know. What actually happened at that dinner?
MISS SAYERS: I have never spied on Granton and his mistresses.
FARROW: But . . .
MISS SAYERS: Have you asked Miss Gonda? What did she say?
FARROW: Look here, if you don’t talk—I don’t talk, either.
MISS SAYERS: I have not asked you to talk. In fact, I haven’t the slightest interest in anything you may say. I want to see Miss Gonda. It is to her own advantage. To yours also, I suppose.
FARROW: May I give her the message?
MISS SAYERS: Your technique is childish, my good man.
FARROW: But in heaven’s name, what is it all about? If you’ve accused her of murder, you have no right to come here demanding to see her! If she’s hiding, wouldn’t she be hiding from you above all people?
MISS SAYERS: Most unfortunate, if she is. Highly ill advised. Highly.
FARROW: Look here, I’ll offer you a bargain. You tell me everything and I’ll take you to Miss Gonda. Not otherwise.
MISS SAYERS: [Rising] I have always been told that picture people had abominable manners. Most regrettable. Please tell Miss Gonda that I have tried. I shall not be responsible for the consequences now.
FARROW: [Rushing after her] Wait! Miss Sayers! Wait a moment! [She turns to him] I’m so sorry! Please forgive me! I’m . . . I’m quite upset, as you can well understand. I beg of you, Miss Sayers, consider what it means! The greatest star of the screen! The dream woman of the world! They worship her, millions of them. It’s practically a cult.
MISS SAYERS: I have never approved of motion pictures. Never saw one. The pastime of morons.
FARROW: You wouldn’t say that if you read her fan mail. Do you think it comes from shopgirls and school kids, like the usual kind of trash? No. Not Kay Gonda’s mail. From college professors and authors and judges and ministers! Everybody! Dirt farmers and international names! It’s extraordinary! I’ve never seen anything like it in my whole career.
MISS SAYERS: Indeed?
FARROW: I don’t know what she does to them all—but she does something. She’s not a movie star to them—she’s a goddess. [Correcting himself hastily] Oh, forgive me. I understand how you must feel about her. Of course, you and I know that Miss Gonda is not exactly above reproach. She is, in fact, a very objectionable person who . . .
MISS SAYERS: I thought she was a rather charming young woman. A bit anemic. A vitamin deficiency in her diet, no doubt. [Turning to him suddenly] Was she happy? FARROW: [Looking at her] Why do you ask that?
MISS SAYERS: I don’t think she was.
FARROW: That, Miss Sayers, is a question I’ve been asking myself for years. She’s a strange woman.
MISS SAYERS: She is.
FARROW: But surely you can’t hate her so much as to want to ruin her!
MISS SAYERS: I do not hate her at all.
FARROW: Then for heaven’s sake, help me to save her name! Tell me what happened. One way or the other, only let’s stop these rumors! Let’s stop these rumors!
MISS SAYERS: This is getting tiresome, my good man. For the last time, will you let me see Miss Gonda or won’t you? FARROW: I’m so sorry, but it is impossible, and . . .
MISS SAYERS: Either you are a fool or you don’t know where she is yourself. Regrettable, in either case. I wish you a good day.
[She is at the entrance door when the private door Right is thrown open violently. SALZER and McNITT enter, dragging and pushing MICK WATTS between them. MICK WATTS is tall, about thirty-five, with disheveled platinum-blond hair, the ferocious face of a thug, and the blue eyes of a baby. He is obviously, unquestionably drunk]
McNITT: There’s your precious Mick Watts for you!
SALZER: Where do you think we found him? He was . . . [Stops short seeing MISS SAYERS] Oh, I beg your pardon! We thought Miss Sayers had left!
MICK WATTS: [Tearing himself loose from them] Miss Sayers?! [Reels ferociously toward her] What did you tell them?
MISS SAYERS: [Looking at him coolly] And who are you, young man?
MICK WATTS: What did you tell them?
MISS SAYERS: [Haughtily] I have told them nothing.
MICK WATTS: Well, keep your mouth shut! Keep your mouth shut!
MISS SAYERS: That, young man, is precisely what I am doing. [Exits]
McNITT: [Lurching furiously at MICK WATTS] Why, you drunken fool!
FARROW: [Interfering] Wait a moment! What happened? Where did you find him?
SALZER: Down in the publicity department! Just think of that! He walked right in and there’s a mob of reporters pounced on him and started filling him up with liquor and—
FARROW: Oh, my Lord!
SALZER:—and here’s what he was handing out for a press release! [Straightens out a slip of paper he has crumpled in his hand, reads:] “Kay Gonda does not cook her own meals or knit her own underwear. She does not play golf, adopt babies, or endow hospitals for homeless horses. She is not kind to her dear old mother—she has no dear old mother. She is not just like you and me. She never was like you and me. She’s like nothing you bastards ever dreamed of!”
FARROW: [Clutching his head] Did they get it?
SALZER: A fool you should think I am? We dragged him out of there just in time!
FARROW: [Approaching MICK WATTS, ingratiatingly] Sit down, Mick, do sit down. There’s a good boy.
[MICK WATTS flops down on a chair and sits motionless, staring into space]
McNITT: If you let me punch the bastard just once, he’ll talk all right.
[SALZER nudges him frantically to keep quiet. FARROW hurries to a cabinet, produces a glass and a decanter, pours]
FARROW: [Bending over MICK WATTS, solicitously, offering him the glass] A drink, Mick? [MICK WATTS does not move or answer] Nice weather we’re having, Mick. Nice, but hot. Awfully hot. Supposing you and I have a drink together?
MICK WATTS: [In a dull monotone] I don’t know a thing. Save your liquor. Go to hell.
FARROW: What are you talking about?
MICK WATTS: I’m talking about nothing—and that goes for everything.
FARROW: You could stand a drink once in a while, couldn’t you? You look thirsty to me.
MICK WATTS: I don’t know a thing abou
t Kay Gonda. Never heard of her. . . . Kay Gonda. It’s a funny name, isn’t it? I went to confession once, long ago—and they talked about the redemption of all sins. It’s useless to yell “Kay Gonda” and to think that all your sins are washed away. Just pay two bits in the balcony—and come out pure as snow.
[The others exchange glances and shrug hopelessly]
FARROW: On second thought, Mick, I won’t offer you another drink. You’d better have something to eat.
MICK WATTS: I’m not hungry. I stopped being hungry many years ago. But she is.
FARROW: Who?
MICK WATTS: Kay Gonda.
FARROW: [Eagerly] Any idea where she’s having her next meal?
MICK WATTS: In heaven. [FARROW shakes his head helplessly ] In a blue heaven with white lilies. Very white lilies. Only she’ll never find it.
FARROW: I don’t understand you, Mick.
MICK WATTS: [Looking at him slowly for the first time] You don’t understand? She doesn’t either. Only it’s no use. It’s no use trying to unravel, because if you try, you end up with more dirt on your hands than you care to wipe off. There are not enough towels in the world to wipe it off. Not enough towels. That’s the trouble.
SALZER: [Impatiently] Look here, Watts, you must know something. You’d better play ball with us. Remember, you’ve been fired from every newspaper on both coasts—
MICK WATTS:—and from many others in between.
SALZER:—so that if anything should happen to Gonda, you won’t have a job here unless you help us now and . . .
MICK WATTS: [His voice emotionless] Do you think I’d want to stay with the lousy bunch of you if it weren’t for her?
McNITT: Jesus, it beats me what they all see in that bitch!
[MICK WATTS turns and looks at McNITT fixedly, ominously]
SALZER: [Placatingly] Now, now, Mick, he doesn’t mean it, he’s kidding, he’s—
[MICK WATTS rises slowly, deliberately, walks up to McNITT without hurry, then strikes him flat on the face, a blow that sends him sprawling on the floor. FARROW rushes to help the stunned McNITT. MICK WATTS stands motionless, with perfect indifference, his arms limp]
McNITT: [Raising his head slowly] The damn . . .
FARROW: [Restraining him] Discipline, Bill, discipline, control your . . .
[The door is flung open as CLAIRE PEEMOLLER rushes in breathlessly]
CLAIRE: She’s coming! She’s coming!
FARROW: Who?!
CLAIRE: Kay Gonda! I just saw her car turning the corner!
SALZER: [Looking at his wristwatch] By God! It’s five o’clock! Can you beat that!
FARROW: I knew she would! I knew it! [Rushes to intercom, shouts:] Miss Drake! Bring in the contract!
CLAIRE: [Tugging at FARROW’s sleeve] Tony, you won’t tell her what I said, will you, Tony? I’ve always been her best friend! I’ll do anything to please her! I’ve always . . .
SALZER: [Grabbing a telephone] Get the publicity department! Quick!
McNITT: [Rushing to MICK WATTS] I was only kidding, Mick! You know I was only kidding. No hard feelings, eh, pal?
[MICK WATTS does not move or look at him. WATTS is the only one motionless amid the frantic activity]
SALZER: [Shouting into the phone] Hello, Meagley? . . . Call all the papers! Reserve the front pages! Tell you later! [Hangs up]
[MISS DRAKE enters, carrying a batch of legal documents]
FARROW: [At his desk] Put it right here, Miss Drake! Thank you! [Steps are heard approaching] Smile, all of you! Smile! Don’t let her think that we thought for a minute that she . . .
[Everyone obeys, save MICK WATTS, all eyes turned to the door. The door opens. MISS TERRENCE enters and steps on the threshold. She is a prim, ugly little shrimp of a woman]
MISS TERRENCE: Is Miss Gonda here?
[A moan rises from the others]
SALZER: Oh, God!
MISS TERRENCE: [Looking at the stunned group] Well, what is the matter?
CLAIRE: [Choking] Did you . . . did you drive up in Miss Gonda’s car?
MISS TERRENCE: [With hurt dignity] Why, certainly. Miss Gonda had an appointment here at five o’clock, and I thought it a secretary’s duty to come and tell Mr. Farrow that it looks as if Miss Gonda will not be able to keep it.
FARROW: [Dully] So it does.
MISS TERRENCE: There is also something rather peculiar I wanted to check on. Has anyone from the studio been at Miss Gonda’s home last night?
FARROW: [Perking up] No. Why, Miss Terrence?
MISS TERRENCE: This is most peculiar.
SALZER: What is?
MISS TERRENCE: I’m sure I can’t understand it. I’ve questioned the servants, but they have not taken them.
FARROW: Taken what?
MISS TERRENCE: If no one else took them, then Miss Gonda must have been back at home late last night.
FARROW: [Eagerly] Why, Miss Terrence?
MISS TERRENCE: Because I saw them on her desk yesterday after she left for Santa Barbara. And when I entered her room this morning, they were gone.
FARROW: What was gone?
MISS TERRENCE: Six letters from among Miss Gonda’s fan mail.
[A great sigh of disappointment rises from all]
SALZER: Aw, nuts!
McNITT: And I thought it was something!
[MICK WATTS bursts out laughing suddenly, for no apparent reason]
FARROW: [Angrily] What are you laughing at?
MICK WATTS: [Quietly] Kay Gonda.
McNITT: Oh, throw the drunken fool out!
MICK WATTS: [Without looking at anyone] A great quest. The quest of the hopeless. Why do we hope? Why do we seek it, when we’d be luckier if we didn’t think that it could exist? Why does she? Why does she have to be hurt? [Whirls suddenly upon the others with ferocious hatred] God damn you all! [Rushes out, slamming the door]
CURTAIN
Act I
SCENE 1
When the curtain rises, a motion-picture screen is disclosed and a letter is flashed on the screen, unrolling slowly. It is written in a neat, precise, respectable handwriting: Dear Miss Gonda,
I am not a regular movie fan, but I have never missed a picture of yours. There is something about you which I can’t give a name to, something I had and lost, but I feel as if you’re keeping it for me, for all of us. I had it long ago, when I was very young. You know how it is: when you’re very young, there’s something ahead of you, so big that you’re afraid of it, but you wait for it and you’re so happy waiting. Then the years pass and it never comes. And then you find, one day, that you’re not waiting any longer. It seems foolish, because you didn’t even know what it was you were waiting for. I look at myself and I don’t know. But when I look at you—I do.
And if ever, by some miracle, you were to enter my life, I’d drop everything, and follow you, and gladly lay down my life for you, because, you see, I’m still a human being.
Very truly yours,
George S. Perkins
. . . S. Hoover Street
Los Angeles, California
When the letter ends, all lights go out, and when they come on again, the screen has disappeared and the stage reveals the living room of GEORGE S. PERKINS.
It is a room such as thousands of other rooms in thousands of other homes whose owners have a respectable little income and a respectable little character.
Center back, a wide glass door opening on the street. Door into the rest of the house in wall Left.
When the curtain rises, it is evening. The street outside is dark. MRS. PERKINS stands in the middle of the room, tense, erect, indignant, watching with smoldering emotion the entrance door where GEORGE S. PERKINS is seen outside turning the key in the lock. MRS. PERKINS looks like a dried-out bird of prey that has never been young. GEORGE S. PERKINS is short, blond, heavy, helpless, and over forty. He is whistling a gay tune as he enters. He is in a very cheerful mood.
MRS. PERKINS: [Without moving, ominously] You’re late.
&nbs
p; PERKINS: [Cheerfully] Well, dovey, I have a good excuse for being late.
MRS. PERKINS: [Speaking very fast] I have no doubt about that. But listen to me, George Perkins, you’ll have to do something about Junior. That boy of yours got D again in arithmetic. If a father don’t take the proper interest in his children, what can you expect from a boy who . . .
PERKINS: Aw, honeybunch, we’ll excuse the kid for once—just to celebrate.
MRS. PERKINS: Celebrate what?
PERKINS: How would you like to be Mrs. Assistant Manager of the Daffodil Canning Company?
MRS. PERKINS: I would like it very much. Not that I have any hopes of ever being.
PERKINS: Well, dovey, you are. As of today.
MRS. PERKINS: [Noncommittally] Oh. [Calls into house] Mama! Come here!
[MRS. SHLY waddles in from door Left. She is fat and looks chronically dissatisfied with the whole world. MRS. PERKINS speaks, half-boasting, half-bitter]
Mama, Georgie’s got a promotion.
MRS. SHLY: [Dryly] Well, we’ve waited for it long enough.
PERKINS: But you don’t understand. I’ve been made Assistant Manager—[Looks for the effect on her face, finds none, adds lamely]—of the Daffodil Canning Company.
MRS. SHLY: Well?
PERKINS: [Spreading his hands helplessly] Well . . .
MRS. SHLY: All I gotta say is it’s a fine way to start off on your promotion, coming home at such an hour, keeping us waiting with dinner and . . .
PERKINS: Oh, I . . .
MRS. SHLY: Oh, we ate all right, don’t you worry! Never seen a man that cared two hoops about his family, not two hoops!
PERKINS: I’m sorry. I had dinner with the boss. I should’ve phoned, only I couldn’t keep him waiting, you know, the boss asking me to dinner, in person.
MRS. PERKINS: And here I was waiting for you, I had something to tell you, a nice surprise for you, and . . .
MRS. SHLY: Don’t you tell him, Rosie. Don’t you tell him now. Serves him right.
