The Magic Tower and Other One-Act Plays (5 page)

MITCH
: Say, what kind of a reception is this, I’d liketa know. I’ve played to some pretty dead pans in my time, but never, never have they busted out crying the moment I walked on the stage. Not even when me and Sarah Bernhardt . . .

BABE
: Can it, Mitch!

LINDA
: I’m sorry! It just struck me all of a sudden. . . .

MITCH
: What the devil! Didja think we wasn’t gonna play this town any more? Lookit here, Duchess! A wedding present! [
He picks up package Babe dropped
.]

LINDA
[
taking it
]: Oh, how sweet! [
Still crying a little she kneels on the floor to unwrap the package
.] Oh!

BABE
: Yeah. A traveling bag!

MITCH
[
significantly
]: Show people can always use an extra piece of luggage once in a while. . . .

LINDA
[
slightly embarrassed
]: It’s beautiful! Jim and I will use it on our honeymoon. We’re planning to have one some day.

BABE
[
surveying the room
]: Criminently, what a dump! Parlor, bedroom, and bath all in one!

LINDA
[
laughing
]: There isn’t any bath. Jim says that baths are an affectation of the idle rich!

BABE
: A what? Hmmm. What kind of a guy is this husband of yours?

MITCH
: No bathtub? Gosh, Duchess, what do you make your gin in?
Well—
[
He looks at leaking places in the roof
.] I see you got plenty of running water, anyway!

LINDA
: Isn’t it awful? It’s been leaking all afternoon! But when the sun comes out it’s really very pleasant in here!

MITCH
: So this is where you’ve been hiding out since you quit the show?

LINDA
: This is it! [
Takes Mitch’s handkerchief to wipe her eyes
.] Oh, it really isn’t as bad as it looks! It’s what they call
a—a
studio apartment! All young artists have places like this!

BABE
: I getcha. Bohemian, huh? Sure. This is really the stuff. Atmosphere. Color. Cockroaches and a leaking
roof—well
, where’s the master of the house?

LINDA
[
proudly
]: He’s calling on T. Anthony Wescott at the Waldorf-Astoria. He just arrived this morning aboard the
Île de France
.

BABE
: The Eel de Frawnce? Well, fawncy that! Don’t you remember, my dear, that’s where we met the Count and Countess De Tootsie! It was simply ripping, you know, how the Count dunked his monocle in Lady Clamfeather’s soup!

LINDA
: Oh, Babe! Crazy as
ever—Wescott’s
an
art—dealer—Jim’s
gone to show him some of his pictures and if he’ll just take an interest in Jim’s work it will mean everything for us! It will
mean—
[
She gets up and goes to window
.] Just everything! . . .
Oh—I
wish this rain would stop! Poor Jim will get soaking wet!

MITCH
: So Jim’s the name. What’s the rest of it?

LINDA
: Mr. and Mrs. James Oliver Flynn!

MITCH
: Fancy moniker, that! Look good on a billboard. Mr. and Mrs. Flynn and the Five Little Flying Flynns! How about it, Duchess? What can he do? Dance, patter,
croon—adagio
?

LINDA
: He’s an artist, you nut! Haven’t you ever heard of an artist before?

MITCH
: Sure. An artist is a guy that’s out of a job and don’t give a damn. [
He opens a cigarette case and offers it to Linda. Linda and Babe take cigarettes
.] Seriously, Duchess, how are you fixed?

LINDA
: Okay.

BABE
: Come on. No stalling. What’s the real situation. On the rocks, huh?

LINDA
[
smiling bravely
]: Everything is okay.

BABE
: Yeah. Everything including the roof. You look like you haven’t had a square meal in a couple of weeks!

MITCH
: Come on, Duchess! You don’t have to put on an act with us!

LINDA
[
walking back to the window
]: Oh, he works so hard, poor Jim! It’s pitiful how hard he works. And nothing ever comes of it! Nothing at all!

MITCH
[
harshly
]: Just as I thought! He’s a ham! Come on, Duchess, pack up this new traveling bag and let’s get going!

LINDA
: What on earth do you mean?

BABE
: You know that you can get your old job back.

LINDA
: You two must be crazy!

MITCH
: You’re going out on tour with us, Duchess. Bergmann said so. He sent us out here to get you. All is forgiven, come home, he said!

LINDA
: Give Mr. Bergmann my regrets. I’m not available this
season—say—what
do you all think I am? Do you think I’d walk out on Jim just because things are a little tough right now? I’m not any quitter!

BABE
: You walked out on the show pretty quick!

LINDA
[
smiling
]: I wasn’t in love with the show.

BABE
: So you’re in love with this sap?

MITCH
: Of course she ain’t. Not the Duchess. She always had too much sense. The smartest girl in the show, Bergmann used to
say—

LINDA
: I
am
in love with him! Of course I am. [
She turns her back to them
.] And if you’re going to talk about him like
that—

MITCH
[
good-humoredly
]: The same old Duchess! Always on the high horse about
something—

BABE
: Be sensible,
kid—
!

LINDA
[
seating herself on the couch
]: Oh, it’s like the show business and everything else. You have to work your way up.

MITCH
: Yeah, but in the show business even the back row hoofers get regular pay. What do you folks live off of, huh? Love and a dime?

LINDA
[
laughing
]: Love and thirty cents!

BABE
[
sitting beside Linda
]: Thirty cents!

LINDA
: He gets thirty cents an hour posing at the art school where he used to study.

MITCH
: Posies, posies, who will buy my posies?

LINDA
: Once in a while he paints an advertising
poster—that
helps out some.

MITCH
: Swell. You can give him a job some day painting your signs on Broadway!

BABE
: And so that’s how you live? How do you do it, honey?

LINDA
: I don’t know. Really I don’t. We just get along somehow. Oh, you needn’t feel so terribly sorry for me. I’ve changed. I’m not the girl that I used to be. Something has happened to me since I’ve been with Jim. Something terribly funny.

MITCH
: I can see that!

LINDA
: There’s something mysterious about this little place of
ours—we
call it our magic
tower—when
we’re in it together we’re perfectly happy. We haven’t a care in the world. You’d think that we were millionaires!

MITCH
: Poor Duchess! She’s gone off her nut!

LINDA
: You think I’m crazy?

MITCH
: Crazy? I’ll say so! Bergmann’s little pet she was! He pays her fifty a week and like that [
Snaps his fingers
.] she walks out on the show! Marries a poor punk in a red beret. . . .

LINDA
[
rising indignantly
]: He doesn’t wear a red beret!

MITCH
: Marries a poor punk that stands up naked for thirty cents an hour. . . .

LINDA
: He doesn’t stand up naked!

MITCH
: Well, anyway, you married him, didn’t you?

LINDA
: Yes, I married him! I was
crazy
about him!

BABE
: Hear that, Mitch? She WAS crazy about him, but she ain’t any more!

LINDA
[
smiling and walking over to window
]: Was, am, and always will be! [
She looks out
.] Still
raining—my
heavens! Jim will be drowned!

BABE
[
winking at Mitch while Linda’s back is turned
]: Honey, if you’re so
crazy
about this artist guy, why don’t you give him an even break?

LINDA
: What do you mean, an even break? I do everything that I can do to help Jim out! I wash his clothes, pose for him, mix his paints. . . .

BABE
: I don’t mean that. You know what I
mean—he’ll
never get nowhere tied to your apron strings!

LINDA
[
her face darkening
]: Tied to my apron strings?

BABE
: These artists never get married, honey, until they’ve made a success. They can’t afford to. It ruins their ca-
reer
!

MITCH
: Funny she ain’t thought of that herself! The Babe is right, Duchess! You gotta look at it that
way—you
don’t want to be a rock around this guy’s neck!

LINDA
: A rock around Jim’s neck? [
There is a minute of silence. Babe and Mitch eagerly studying the gathering darkness on Linda’s face
.]

LINDA
[
as if to herself
]: A
rock—No
, I couldn’t be that! [
She walks distractedly about the room
.]

BABE
[
harshly
]: That’s what you’ll be! Mark my word!

MITCH
[
following Linda
]: Babe’s right about it, Duchess! That’s the way you got to look at it! If you really love this guy . . .

BABE
[
eagerly
]: You don’t want to spoil his chances!

LINDA
[
clasping her ears
]: Stop! I won’t listen to any more of it! You’re just trying to ruin everything!

BABE
: Think of the future, Duchess!

MITCH
: Yeah, the future!

BABE
: You’re making an awful mistake, Honey, if you don’t consider . . .

MITCH
: You’ve got too much
sense—

LINDA
: Oh, stop! Please. . . .

BABE
: Just think! If he wasn’t tied up what he could do!

LINDA
: Tied up? No!

BABE
: If he wasn’t tied up like this he could go to Europe and study in one of them fancy schools over there! That’s where all the real artists go!

MITCH
: Sure! They ain’t got a chance if they don’t!

BABE
: How old is he, Duchess? I bet he’s just a kid!

MITCH
: Listen! A smart young feller who ain’t tied up with no
dame—

BABE
: He can always make his own way!

LINDA
: No, no! I couldn’t go on without Jim!

BABE
: Yes, you could, and you will. The show’s pulling out tonight. You’re going with us!

LINDA
: Oh,
please—you’re
making me dizzy!

MITCH
: We open tomorrow in Chicago. Play there one week. Then South to St. Louis. New Orleans for Mardi Gras time. After that we go West. A coast-to-coast tour!

BABE
: We play the Palace in Los Angeles. That’s just a couple of hops from Hollywood, kid! Say, with your talent and
brains—

MITCH
: And her good looks!

BABE
: Bergmann always
said—

MITCH
: She’ll
wow
them!

BABE
: You bet she will. Good old Duchess. She always did. You should’ve seen Bergmann, honey, the night you pulled out of the show. There was tears in his eyes. Honest to God, tears in his eyes! Wasn’t there, Mitch?

MITCH
: He was all broken up!

LINDA
: Bergmann. . . . [
Linda shivers and covers her face with her hands
.]

BABE
[
harshly
]: Lookit her hands, Mitch! She’s got dishwater hands!

MITCH
: Imagine that! The Duchess with dishwater hands!

BABE
[
softening
]: Never mind, honey, a little cold cream rubbed in every night. . . .

LINDA
: Don’t!

MITCH
[
glancing at wristwatch
]: Come on, Linda. Pack up. The train pulls out at seven. [
Linda turns to window
.]

BABE
[
nudging him
]: Give her time, give her time! Let her think it all over. Maybe she’d rather have him throw it up to her some day how she spoiled all his chances!

LINDA
[
gasping
]: Spoiled his chances! No, no, I’ll never do that! I’ll do anything but that!

BABE
[
again winking at Mitch
]: Just give her time. She has to think things over. It’s the future she has to look out for, Mitch. Five or ten years from now. . . .

LINDA
: Five or ten years! Oh. . . .

BABE
: Yeah, if things keep on like they’re going now, you won’t be so young no more in five or ten years. He’ll get tired of you maybe. He’ll look at you while you’re bending over the washtub with your face all red and sweaty and your hair in your eyes and he’ll say to himself, “There she is! My ball and chain! If I wasn’t tied to her apron strings . . .”