unknown man grabbing at me, saying, stay, stay! At last the top of the aisle, I turned and struck him, then let the train fall, forgot it, and tried to run down them arble stairs, tripped of course, fell and rolled, rolled, like a sailor's drunk whore to the bottom . . . hands, merciful hands without faces, assisted me to get up. After that? Flight, just flight, not interrupted until I woke up this morning. . . . Oh God it's gone out. . . .
CHANCE: Let me fix you another. Huh? Shall I fix you another?
PRINCESS: Let me finish yours. You can't retire with the out-crying heart of an artist still
crying out, in your body, in your nerves, in your what? Heart? Oh, no, that's gone, that's . . .
CHANCE [He goes to her takes the cigarette out of her hand and gives her a fresh one.]: Here, I've fixed you another one. . . . Princess, I've fixed you another. . . . [He sits on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed.]
PRINCESS: Well, sooner or later, at some point in your life, the thing that you lived for is lost or abandoned, and then . . . you die, or find something else. This is my something else. . . .
[She approaches the bed.]
And ordinarily I take the most fantastic precautions against . . . detection. . . .
[She sits on the beds then lies down on her back, her head over the foot, near his.]
I cannot imagine what possessed me to let you know. Knowing so little about you as I
seem to know.
CHANCE: I must've inspired a good deal of confidence in you.
PRINCESS: If that's the case, I've gone crazy. Now tell me something. What is that body of
water, that sea, out past the palm garden and four-lane highway? I ask you because I remember now that we turned west from the sea when we went on to that highway called the Old Spanish
Trail,
CHANCE: We've come back to the sea.
PRINCESS: What sea?
CHANCE: The Gulf.
PRINCESS: The Gulf?
CHANCE: The Gulf of misunderstanding between me and you. . . .
PRINCESS: We don't understand each other? And lie here smoking this stuff?
CHANCE: Princess, don't forget that this stuff is yours, that you provided me with it.
PRINCESS: What are you trying to prove? [Church bells toll.]
Sundays go on a long time.
CHANCE: You don't deny it was yours.
PRINCESS: What's mine?
CHANCE: You brought it into the country, you smuggled it through customs into the U. S. A.,
and you had a fair supply of it at that hotel in Palm Beach and were asked to check out before you were ready to do so, because its aroma drifted into the corridor one breezy night.
PRINCESS: What are you trying to prove?
CHANCE: You don't deny that you introduced me to it?
PRINCESS: Boy, I doubt very much that I have any vice that I'd need to introduce to you . . . .
CHANCE: Don't call me 'boy'.
PRINCESS: Why not?
CHANCE: It sounds condescending. And all my vices were caught from other people.
PRINCESS: What are you trying to prove? My memory's come back now. Excessively clearly.
It was this mutual practice that brought us together. When you came in my cabana to give me
one of those papaya cream rubs, you sniffed, you grinned, and said you'd like a stick too.
CHANCE: That's right. I knew the smell of it.
PRINCESS: What are you trying to prove?
CHANCE: You asked me four or five times what I'm trying to prove, the answer is nothing. I'm just making sure that your memory's cleared up now. You do remember me coming in your
cabana to give you those papaya cream rubs?
PRINCESS: Of course I do, Carl!
CHANCE: My name is not Carl. It's Chance.
PRINCESS: You called yourself Carl.
CHANCE: I always carry an extra name in my pocket.
PRINCESS: You're not a criminal, are you?
CHANCE: No ma'am, not me. You're the one that's committed a federal offence.
[She stares at him a moment, and then goes to the door leading to the hall, looks out and
listens.]
What did you do that for?
PRINCESS [closing the door]: To see if someone was planted outside the door.
CHANCE: You still don't trust me?
PRINCESS: Someone that gives me a false name?
CHANCE: You registered under a phony one in Palm Beach.
PRINCESS: Yes, to avoid getting any reports or condolences on the disaster I ran from.
[She crosses to the window. There is a pause followed by the 'Lament'.]
And so we've not arrived at any agreement?
CHANCE: No ma'am, not a complete one.
[She turns her back to the window and gazes at him from there.]
PRINCESS: What's the gimmick? The hitch?
CHANCE: The usual one.
PRINCESS: What's that?
CHANCE: Doesn't somebody always hold out for something?
PRINCESS: Are you holding out for something?
CHANCE: Uh-huh . . .
PRINCESS: What?
CHANCE: You said that you had a large block of stock, more than half-ownership in a sort of a second-rate Hollywood studio, and could put me under contract. I doubted your word about
that. You're not like any phony I've met before, but phonies come in all types and sizes. So I held out, even after we locked your cabana door for the papaya cream rubs. . . . You wired for some contract papers we signed. It was notarized and witnessed by three strangers found in a
bar.
PRINCESS: Then why did you hold out, still?
CHANCE: I didn't have much faith in it. You know, you can buy those things for six bits in
novelty stores. I've been conned and tricked too often to put much faith in anything that could still be phony.
PRINCESS: You're wise. However, I have the impression that there's been a certain amount of
intimacy between us.
CHANCE: A certain amount. No more. I wanted to hold your interest.
PRINCESS: Well, you miscalculated. My interest always increases with satisfaction.
CHANCE: Then you're unusual in that respect, too.
PRINCESS: In all respects I'm not common.
CHANCE: But I guess the contract we signed is full of loopholes?
PRINCESS: Truthfully, yes, it is. I can get out of it if I wanted to. And so can the studio. Do you have any talent?
CHANCE: For what?
PRINCESS: Acting, baby, ACTING!
CHANCE: I'm not as positive of it as I once was. I've had more chances than I could count on
my fingers, and made the grade almost, but not quite, every time. Something always blocks me.
. . .
PRINCESS: What? What? Do you know?
[He rises. The lamentation is heard very faintly.]
Fear?
CHANCE: No not fear, but terror . . . otherwise would I be your goddam caretaker, hauling you across the country? Picking you up when you fall? Well would I? Except for that block, be
anything less than a star?
PRINCESS: CARL!
CHANCE: Chance . . . Chance Wayne. You're stoned.
PRINCESS: Chance, come back to your youth. Put off this false, ugly hardness and . . .
CHANCE: And be took in by every con-merchant I meet?
PRINCESS: I'm not a phony, believe me.
CHANCE: Well, then, what is it you want? Come on, say it, Princess.
PRINCESS: Chance, come here. [He smiles but doesn't move.] Come here and let's comfort
each other a little. [He crouches by the bed; she encircles him with her bare arms.]
CHANCE: Princess! Do you know something? All this conversation has been recorded on
tape?
PRINCESS: What are you talking about?
CHANCE: Listen. I'll play it back to you. [He uncovers the tape recorder; approaches her with the earp
iece.]
PRINCESS: How did you get that thing?
CHANCE: You bought it for me in Palm Beach. I said that I wanted it to improve my diction. .
. .
[He presses the 'play' button on the recorder. The following between ">>>" and "<<<"
can either be on a public address system, or can be cut.]
(PLAYBACK)
>>>
PRINCESS: What is it? Don't you know what it is, you beautiful, stupid, young man? It's
hashish, Moroccan, the finest.
CHANCE: Oh, hash! How'd you get it through customs when you came back for your come-
back?
PRINCESS: I didn't get it through customs. The ship's doctor . . .
<<<
[He snaps off the recorder and picks up the reels.]
PRINCESS: What a smart cookie you are.
CHANCE: How does it feel to be over a great big barrel?
PRINCESS: This is blackmail is it? Where's my mink stole?
CHANCE: Not stolen.
[He tosses it to her contemptuously from a chair.]
PRINCESS: Where is my jewel case?
CHANCE [picking it up off the floor and throwing it on the bed]: Here.
PRINCESS [opening it up and starting to put on some jewelry]: Every piece is insured and
described in detail. Lloyd's in London.
CHANCE: Who's a smart cookie, Princess? You want your purse now so you can count your
money?
PRINCESS: I don't carry currency with me, just travellers, checks.
CHANCE: I noted that fact already. But I got a fountain pen you can sign them with.
PRINCESS: Ho, Ho!
CHANCE: 'Ho, ho!' What an insincere laugh; if that's how you fake a laugh, no wonder you
didn't make good in your come-back picture. . . .
PRINCESS: Are you serious about this attempt to blackmail me?
CHANCE: You'd better believe it. Your trade's turned dirt on you, Princess. You understand
that language.
PRINCESS: The language of the gutter is understood anywhere that anyone ever fell in it.
CHANCE: Aw, then you do understand.
PRINCESS: And if I shouldn't comply with this order of yours?
CHANCE: You still got a name, you're still a personage, Princess. You wouldn't want Confidential or Whisper or Hush-Hush or the narcotics department of the F. B. I., to get hold of one of these tape-records, would you? And I'm going to make lots of copies. Huh? Princess?
PRINCESS: You are trembling and sweating . . . you see this part doesn't suit you, you just
don't play it well, Chance. . . . [Chance puts the reels in a suitcase.] I hate to think of what kind of desperation has made you try to intimidate me, ME? ALEXANDRA DEL LAGO? with that
ridiculous threat. Why it's so silly, it's touching, downright endearing, it makes me feel close to you, Chance. You were well born, weren't you? Born of good Southern stock, in a genteel
tradition, with just one disadvantage, a laurel wreath on your forehead, given too early, without enough effort to earn it . . . where's your scrapbook, Chance? [He crosses to the bed, takes a travellers' checkbook out of her purse, and extends it to her.] Where's your book full of little theatre notices and stills that show you in the background of . . .
CHANCE: Here! Here! Start signing . . . or . . .
PRINCESS [pointing to the bathroom]: Or WHAT? Go take a shower under cold water. I don't
like hot sweaty bodies in a tropical climate. Oh, you, I do want and will accept, still . . . under certain conditions which I will make very clear to you.
CHANCE: Here. [Throws the checkbook towards the bed.]
PRINCESS: Put this away. And your leaky fountain pen. . . . When monster meets monster, one
monster has to give way, AND IT WILL NEVER BE ME. I'm an older hand at it . . . with much
more natural aptitude at it than you have. . . . Now then, you put the cart a little in front of the horse. Signed checks are payment, delivery comes first. Certainly I can afford it, I could deduct you, as my caretaker, Chance, remember that I was a star before big taxes . . . and had a
husband who was a great merchant prince. He taught me to deal with money. . . . Now, Chance,
please pay close attention while I tell you the very special conditions under which I will keep you in my employment . . . after this miscalculation. . . . Forget the legend that I was and the ruin of that legend. Whether or not I do have a disease of the heart that places an early terminal date on my life, no mention of that, no reference to it ever. No mention of death, never, never a word on that odious subject. I've been accused of having a death wish but I think it's life that I wish for, terribly, shamelessly, on any terms whatsoever. When I say now, the answer must not be later. I have only one way to forget these things I don't want to remember and that's through the act of love-making. That's the only dependable distraction so when I say now, because I
need that distraction, it has to be now, not later.
[She crosses to the bed. He rises from the opposite side of the bed and goes to the
window. She gazes at his back as he looks out of the window. Pause: 'Lament'.]
PRINCESS [finally, softly]: Chance, I need that distraction. It's time for me to find out if you're able to give it to me. You mustn't hang on to your silly little idea that you can increase your value by turning away and looking out of a window when somebody wants you. . . . I want you.
. . . I say now and I mean now, then and not until then will I call downstairs and tell the hotel cashier that I'm sending a young man down with some travellers' checks to cash for me. . . .
CHANCE [turning slowly from the window]: Aren't you ashamed, a little?
PRINCESS: Of course I am. Aren't you?
CHANCE: More than a little. . . .
PRINCESS: Close the shutters, draw the curtain across them. [He obeys these commands.]
Now get a little sweet music on the radio and come here to me and make me almost
believe that we're a pair of young lovers without any shame.
SCENE TWO
[As the curtain rises, the Princess has a fountain pen in hand and is signing checks,
Chance, now wearing dark slacks, socks, and shoes of the fashionable loafer type, is putting on his shirt and speaks as the curtain opens.]
CHANCE: Keep on writing, has the pen gone dry?
PRINCESS: I started at the back of the book where the big ones are.
CHANCE: Yes, but you stopped too soon.
PRINCESS: All right, one more from the front of the book as a token of some satisfaction. I
said some, not complete.
CHANCE [picking up the phone]: Operator--Give me the cashier please.
PRINCESS: What are you doing that for?
CHANCE: You have to tell the cashier you're sending me down with some travellers' checks to
cash for you.
PRINCESS: Have to? Did you say have to?
CHANCE: Cashier? Just a moment. The Princess Kosmonopolis. [He thrusts the phone at her.]
PRINCESS [into the phone]: Who is this? But I don't want the cashier. My watch has stopped
and I want to know the right time . . . five after three? Thank you . . . he says it's five after three.
[She hangs up and smiles at Chance.] I'm not ready to be left alone in this room. Now let's not fight any more over little points like that, let's save our strength for the big ones. I'll have the checks cashed for you as soon as I've put on my face. I just don't want to be left alone in this
place till I've put on the face that I face the world with, baby. Maybe after we get to know each other, we won't fight over little points any more, the struggle will stop, maybe we won't even fight over big points, baby. Will you open the shutters a little bit, please? [He doesn't seem to hear her. The 'Lament' is heard.] I won't be able to see my face in the mirror. . . . Open the shutters, I won't be able to see my face in the mirror.
Sweet Bird of Youth Page 3
