Index     1     2     3

ACT TWO

SCENE: The same. About three weeks later. Afternoon.

AT RISE: MARION is putting some touches on the full length portrait of LEANDER NOLAN which stands away from the audience. She is wearing her working costume, baggy red corduroy trousers, a sash and a worn blue smock over a kind of sweater-jacket. She is very happy. . . . On the piano nearby are her writing things. While touching up LEANDER she is struck by an idea for her book. Puts down her brush and palette and goes to the piano to jot down some notes. The idea pleases her. She giggles to herself. Then she returns to her easel. MINNIE comes in and stands watching her a moment before MARION sees her.

MARION—[Sees MINNIE at last.] Oh yes, Minnie—do you want anything?

MINNIE—You asked me to come right away, Marion.

MARION—Did I?

MINNIE—Ja. [Sitting on sofa right.] Zo! You have left a note on the kitchen I should come in right away I am back from the market.

MARION—[Studying the portrait.] Of course I did. That's right, Minnie.

MINNIE—Well, what did you want, Marion?

MARION—[Washing paint brush in turpentine jar.] Did I tell you there'd be two for dinner?

MINNIE—Ja. Gewiss! Das ist vy I vent to the market.

MARION—Well, I've changed my plans. I'm dining out with Feydie after all.

MINNIE—[Rising and looking at picture.] Ach, Gott! [She studies the portrait.]

MARION—[Looks humorously at MINNIE and puts her arm about MINNIE'S shoulders.] Gut?

MINNIE—Ziemlich gut—

MARION—Do you know who it is?

MINNIE—Oh, das sicht man ja gleich. Das ist Herr Nolan!

MARION—[Shaking her hand in gratitude.] Thank you, Minnie! [Door bell rings.] See who that is, will you, Minnie?

MINNIE—Fraulein ist zu hause?

MARION—Ich erwarte Herr Feydak. Für ihn bin ich immer zu hause.

MINNIE—[Agreeing heartily as she crosses to the door.] Ja, Ja, der Herr Feydak. . . . [MINNIE goes out. MARION jots down a note on the pad which is on the piano. FEYDAK enters. MINNIE closes the door and exits left.]

MARION—[At piano.] Hello Feydie! Sit down!

FEYDAK—Well, my dear, which career do I interrupt?

MARION—[Laughing.] I don't know!

FEYDAK—One comes to see you with diffidence nowadays. [FEYDAK removes coat and hat and places them on the up-stage end of the sofa right, and sits on the left side of the sofa.]

MARION—While I'm painting I think of funny things to say, funny phrases. It won't be a serious biography, thank God. I'm dedicating it to Vicki: "To Vicki—the gayest person I have ever known!" By the way, have you got any little snapshots of Vicki—all I've got are formal photographs with his orders. I'd like to get something a little more intimate.

FEYDAK—I'll hunt some up for you.

MARION—Have you heard from the Powers yet, when you are to leave?

FEYDAK—Tomorrow.

MARION—[Stricken—sits Right of him.] Feydie!

FEYDAK—[Fatalistically.] Tomorrow. [They sit.] I shall leave you with sorrow, Marion.

MARION—I'll have no one to laugh with.

FEYDAK—For me it's an exile.

MARION—You'll have a wonderful time. I shall miss you terribly.

FEYDAK—Perhaps you'll come out.

MARION—Perhaps I will. I've always wanted to go to China. If I have enough money left from all my labors I'll stop in on you—en route to China.

FEYDAK—That would be marvelous.

MARION—You know writing one's life has a sobering effect on one—you get it together and you think: "Well! look at the damn thing . . ."

FEYDAK—Do you want to be impressive?

MARION—Well, I don't want to be trivial . . .

FEYDAK—I think you escape that.

MARION—My friendships haven't been trivial. . . . [She gives his hand a squeeze.]

FEYDAK—Have you seen that bombastic young man?

MARION—Oh, yes. He comes in every once in a while to see how I'm getting on. He's quite insulting. Underneath his arrogance I suspect he's very uncertain.

FEYDAK—Oh, now, don't tell me he has an inferiority complex!

MARION—Well, I think he has!

FEYDAK—The new psychology is very confusing. In my simple day you said: "That young man is bumptious and insufferable" and you dismissed him. Now you say: "He has an inferiority complex" and you encourage him to be more bumptious and more insufferable. It's very confusing.

MARION—There's a kind of honesty about him that I like.

FEYDAK—[Instantly putting two and two together.] Oh!

MARION—Nothing like that, Feydie! As a matter of fact—I don't mind telling you . . . I like him very much—

FEYDAK—I think he is destined . . .

MARION—He's not interested. He's some kind of fanatic. Social, I think. I've met that kind in Russia—quite unassailable. But I'm optimistic. . . . [They laugh.] Well, one must never despair, must one. Life is so much more resourceful and resilient than one is oneself. Three weeks ago when you came to see me I felt quite at the end of my rope. I didn't tell you quite but I actually didn't know which way to turn. I felt tired too—which troubled me. Well, now I find myself, quite suddenly, [She indicates portrait.] doing Leander and—[She indicates manuscript on piano.] doing myself. New Vista. Very exciting.

FEYDAK—All this enthusiasm for art alone?

MARION—[Laughing.] Of course!—Feydie, what did you think?

FEYDAK—I don't believe it.

MARION—Come here and have a look at Leander!

FEYDAK—[He rises—walks to the canvas on the easel.] Hm! Formal!

MARION—It's to hang in the White House. [She winks at him, he laughs, puts his arm around her shoulder.]

FEYDAK—Marion, you're adorable! [They walk down stage together, their arms around each other's shoulders, very affectionately.]

MARION—Oh, Feydie, I'm having a wonderful time. Quiet too. Writing enforces silence and solitude on one. I've always lived in such a rush—a kind of interminable scherzo. . . .

FEYDAK—Good title! . . .

MARION—Think so? I'll put it down. . . . [Writes on pad on piano. FEYDAK sits on Right arm of sofa Left facing her.] Interminable scherzo. . . . How do you spell it? A little affected. Might do for a chapter heading maybe. . . . [Returns to him—sitting on model stand—facing him.] But I realize now I haven't in years had time to stop and think. I sit here for hours, Feydie, and nothing comes to me. Then, suddenly, the past will come in on me with such a rush—odd, remote, semi-forgotten things of the past. Are they true? How much is true? One can never be sure, can one? I remember certain griefs and fears. I remember their existence without recalling at all their intensity—their special anguish. Why? What was the matter with me? What made them so acute? It is like recalling a landscape without color, a kind of color-blindness of the memory. [Door bell rings. She calls out to her factotum.] Minnie! [MINNIE enters left and crosses rapidly to hall-door. MARION arranges the model stand on which stands the papal arm-chair in red and gold.] This is probably the Hon. Nolan. He's due for a sitting. He pretends he doesn't like to have his picture painted, but I know he does. [MINNIE enters from hall-way. She is flustered and giggly.]

MINNIE—[Very high-pitched voice.] Herr Varvick Vilson!

MARION—Tympi Wilson!

MINNIE—[To FEYDAK.] Der film star!

FEYDAK—So?

MINNIE—[Radiant.] Ja! Ja!

MARION—Oh, Feydie, you'll adore this. Ask him in, Minnie.

MINNIE—[As she goes out to admit WILSON.] Gott, ist er schön!

MARION—Warwick's public.

FEYDAK—And mine!

MARION—[In a quick whisper.] What ever you do—outstay him! [MINNIE has opened the door and WARWICK WILSON enters. He is very handsome, explosively emotional, and given to cosmic generalization. He is in evening clothes.]

WILSON—[With a red carnation in his buttonhole, crossing to MARION and kissing her hand.] Marion!

MARION—Warwick!

WILSON—Darling! How are you?

MARION—I'm splendid. Been up all night?

WILSON—No, no! This is business. [MINNIE has crossed to kitchen door upper-left, never taking her eyes from WILSON.]

MARION—This is Mr. Feydak. Mr. Warwick Wilson, the famous film star.

WILSON—[Crosses to sofa and shakes hands with FEYDAK—dramatically.] Feydak! The Mr. Feydak?

FEYDAK—[Again mistaken for his brother.] Ja.

WILSON—I've heard of you indeed!

FEYDAK—Have you? Thanks.

MARION—Mr. Feydak is on his way to Hollywood. He is to write the music for . . .

WILSON—[Sits on the model stand—facing front.] Of course! I am honored, Mr. Feydak—deeply honored. That unforgettable waltz—how does it go? . . . [He starts to hum with a swaying gesture the waltz from the "Merry Widow."] Music's my one passion!

MARION—Once you said it was me.

WILSON—A lot of good it did me!

MARION—[To WILSON.] Well, tell me . . . [She sees MINNIE who is still staring at WILSON.] Look at Minnie. The mere sight of you has upset her so that she's speechless.

MINNIE—Aber, Fraulein! [WILSON rises graciously and gives MINNIE a friendly wave of the hand. He's no snob. MINNIE, speechless with delight, exits left. WILSON returns to his position on the model stand.]

MARION—All right, Minnie! Warwick, Warwick! You mustn't do things like that to Minnie, at her age!

WILSON—[Tragically.] There you are! This face! This cursed face! I should go masked really. One has no private life!

MARION—[Sits in throne chair on model stand.] What would you do with it if you had it, eh, Tympi?

WILSON—[Delighted.] That nickname!

MARION—It just rolled off my tongue. Did I call you that?

WILSON—You did! You invented it. No one's called me that since you left Hollywood. And you promised to explain the significance to me, but you never did.

MARION—Did it have a significance?

FEYDAK—Marion has a knack for nicknames.

MARION—I love 'em. I'd like to do a chapter on nicknames.

WILSON—[Highly pleased.] Tympi! Tympi! [Very patronizing to FEYDAK.] You are an intuitive person, Mr. Feydak. I can see that. [FEYDAK ad libs: "Danke schön."] Can you imagine what she meant?

FEYDAK—Her vagaries are beyond me, Mr. Wilson.

WILSON—[Leaning back toward MARION.] Speak, Oracle! No! Don't tell me now. Put it into that book you're writing.

MARION—[MARION and FEYDAK exchange glances.] How things get around.

WILSON—It's been in the back of my mind for years, Marion . . . to have you paint me. Now that we're both in town together . . .

MARION—Well, I'd love to . . .

WILSON—In the costume of the Dane. [MARION and FEYDAK exchange a look. Strikes a pose.] I'd like to be done in his costume. I hope, Mr. Feydak, that they won't break your spirit in Hollywood as they've almost broken mine!

FEYDAK—[With a smile.] My spirit is indestructible!

WILSON—[Rises and crosses to rear of sofa and pats FEYDAK on the back.] I'm glad to hear it. [Returns to left of model stand and stands with his right foot on it.] You know, for years I've been begging them to do Shakespeare. [Gesticulates.]

MARION—[Interrupting him.] Sit down and be comfortable.

WILSON—They simply won't listen. But I'm going to give up acting and produce!

MARION—Oh, good God! Don't do that!

WILSON—Why not?

MARION—What would Minnie do with her night off?

WILSON—[Smiles.] My public, eh?

MARION—Yes!

WILSON—Quite so! [Patronizingly.] You artists who work in media like painting or literature—[To FEYDAK.] Or music, that too is a beautiful art, Mr. Feydak—transcends speech—transcends everything, by saying nothing it says all.

FEYDAK—Ja! [The door-bell rings.]

WILSON—You are certainly lucky compared to us poor actors. We—[MINNIE enters and crosses to hall-door upper center.] Wouldn't it be ironic if all that remained of me after I am gone were your painting of me. That is why I want it perhaps—my poor grasp on immortality.

FEYDAK—You see, Marion, you confer immortality!

MARION—I think immortality is an over-rated commodity. But tell me, Tympi, what are you doing away from Hollywood?

MINNIE—[Comes in announcing:] Der Herr Nolan! [MINNIE then looks at WILSON. WILSON stands—looks at MINNIE.]

MARION—Show him in. Show him in. [With a lingering look at WILSON, MINNIE goes back. To others, after watching MINNIE exit.] You see!

FEYDAK—The effect is instantaneous—like music . . . [NOLAN enters. MINNIE follows NOLAN in and exits into kitchen, murmuring ecstatically, "Gott! Ist er schön!" looking at WILSON.]

MARION—Hellow Bunny! [Introducing NOLAN.] You know Mr. Feydak. Mr. Nolan, this is Warwick Wilson, you've heard of him. [FEYDAK bows to NOLAN, who returns the bow.]

WILSON—It's a pleasure, Mr. Nolan. I've heard of you indeed! [They shake hands.]

MARION—You're late for your sitting, Bunny. Will the presence of these gentlemen embarrass you? I don't mind if you don't.

NOLAN—[Has entered rather worried and angry. He has a magazine rolled in his hand. He now speaks very irritatedly.] As a matter of fact, Marion . . .

MARION—[Putting him in throne chair on model stand.] Oh, sit down like a good fellow. The light is getting bad. [NOLAN sits. WILSON sits on the right arm of the sofa left on which FEYDAK is sitting. MARION gets to work on BUNNY.] How did you find me, Tympi?

WILSON—I read in a magazine that you were barging into literature . . .

NOLAN—[Half rising, showing magazine.] This is true then!

MARION—Don't get up, Bunny . . . [Nevertheless she takes the magazine and looks at it.] Well, Dickie has gone and spread himself, hasn't he? [She sits on sofa left between WILSON and FEYDAK.] Look here, Feydie! [Shows him the full-page announcement of her book in magazine.]

FEYDAK—[Looking.] Do you think you can live up to this?

MARION—Why will they write this sort of thing! [Rises and goes back.] Makes me out a kind of female Casanova. [She drops the magazine on the stand at NOLAN'S feet.] Well, they'll be disappointed.

NOLAN—[Bitterly.] Will they?

MARION—Bunny! [But she thinks nothing of it—merely pushes him into a better light.]

FEYDAK—[Tactfully—he senses danger.] May I ask, Mr. Wilson—are you making a picture at the moment?

WILSON—No, I'm in New York making some personal appearances.

MARION—Personal appearances. I love that phrase. Has such an air of magnanimity about it. [Crosses to painting.]

WILSON—Pretty boring, I can tell you! I've got writer's cramp signing autograph books. It's a perfect martyrdom I assure you. It's no fun at all. [WILSON crosses to stand—puts his right foot on it, leans on his knee with his right arm and studies NOLAN, his face not six inches away from NOLAN'S. NOLAN fidgets.]

MARION—I can imagine! What's the matter, Bunny? You seem under a strain today . . . not relaxed.

NOLAN—[Bursting out and glaring as all of them.] It's like being watched while you're taking a bath!

MARION—Oh, I'm so sorry, Bunny!

FEYDAK—[Rising.] I quite sympathize with Mr. Nolan.

WILSON—[Moves away.] Supposing I were so shy, eh, Mr. Nolan?

FEYDAK—[Crosses to MARION who is above her easel, right.] I'm off, Marion. [Kisses her hand.] Auf wiedersehen!

MARION—[Meaningfully.] You'll have to go—[WILSON sits again on arm of sofa left.] both of you . . .

WILSON—[Rises.] I was just going myself. My next appearance is at 6:45. [Speaks to others.]

FEYDAK—[To help her.] Perhaps I can drop you, Mr. Wilson.

WILSON—[Faces FEYDAK.] No, I'll drop you . . . [Turns to MARION.] I say, Marion . . . [FEYDAK, helpless, goes up-stage putting on coat.]

MARION—Yes, Tympi?

WILSON—If you started my portrait right away and it turns out—I am sure it will turn out—you might put it in your book, mightn't you? I'm frankly sick of just appearing in fan-magazines.

MARION—We'll see. Why not?

WILSON—Splendid! Don't fail to come tonight. Good-bye dearest Marion. Good-bye again, Mr. Nolan. [He starts to shake NOLAN'S hand but is interrupted by MARION, almost screaming.]

MARION—No, no, no! Don't do that—don't touch him.

WILSON—Most happy! See you later. . . . [He waves himself off at last—MARION returns to her easel.]

MARION—[To FEYDAK.] Don't forget—I'm dining with you.

FEYDAK—[Like the player in Hamlet who burlesques Polonius.] Most happy—see you later. [FEYDAK leaves.]

MARION—[With relief.] Now then . . .

NOLAN—[Muttering to himself.] Silly ass!

MARION—[Working on painting.] That young man is one of the most famous people in the world, do you realize that, Bunny? His profile follows you all over Europe—and Asia. Ubiquitous profile. Have you ever seen him?

NOLAN—[Unswerved.] He's a silly ass!

MARION—I admit he's somewhat on that side—but that other one—that Feydie—he's the darling of the world!

NOLAN—[Very short—bitterly.] Evidently!

MARION—[Surprised.] Bunny!

NOLAN—[Savage now.] Who isn't a darling! Everyone's a darling as far as I can see! The world's full of darlings. Your world at any rate.

MARION—But, darling . . . [She suddenly stops—sits right end of sofa right.] Oh, Bunny, I remember now!

NOLAN—You remember what!

MARION—Tympi! Why I nicknamed him Tympi. Don't you see?

NOLAN—No, I don't see . . .

MARION—For tympanum—a large instrument in the orchestra producing a hollow sound. [She beats an imaginary drum with her paint brush.] Boom! [Suddenly NOLAN quits the pose.] What is it?

NOLAN—I can't sit today. I'm not in the mood.

MARION—I could tell there was something worrying you.

NOLAN—There is something worrying me!

MARION—Well, what is it?

NOLAN—This confounded story! Are you really writing it?

MARION—Well, yes—I am.

NOLAN—What do you intend to tell?

MARION—Well, that's a rather difficult question to answer—it's like asking me what I've been doing all my life.

NOLAN—When does this biography start?

MARION—[Beginning to wonder about this questioning.] With my birth—coincidence, isn't it?

NOLAN—All the time back home—when you were a girl in Knoxville?

MARION—Yes, of course. I've had a wonderful time going back over it all.

NOLAN—Everything?

MARION—Everything I can remember.

NOLAN—Do I come into it?

MARION—[Smiling to herself.] You do! You certainly do!

NOLAN—You must leave me out of that story!

MARION—But Bunny, how can I possibly leave you out?

NOLAN—You must, that's all?

MARION—But how can I? You were too important—think of the rôle you played in my life. By your own confession, Bunny darling, you—you started me. That's a good idea for a chapter-heading, isn't it? "Bunny Starts Me." I must put that down.

NOLAN—This is no joke, Marion. [With menace.] I warn you . . .

MARION—Warn me! Let me understand you. Are you seriously asking me to give up an opportunity like this just because . . .

NOLAN—[Rises and gets down from the model stand. Speaks with brutal command.] Opportunity! Cheap exhibitionism! A chance to flaunt your affairs in a rag like this. [Indicating magazine on piano.] I won't be drawn into it. I can tell you that! [He is in a towering rage.]

MARION—[After a pause.] I know that by your standards, Bunny, I'm a loose character. But there are other standards, there just are.

NOLAN—[Crosses to center—drops magazine on model stand.] Not in Tennessee!

MARION—[Rises.] I'm afraid you're provincial, Bunny.

NOLAN—I'm sorry.

MARION—[Takes off her smock, crosses to small table down right, gets her notes, then crosses to desk upper right.] I don't care what the advertisements say about my story—I know what I'm writing . . .

NOLAN—I'm sorry.

MARION—That's all right. [But this has gone pretty deep.]

NOLAN—[After a pause.] If you're doing this for money—[She turns and watches him.] I know you've been pretty hard up—I promise you I'll get you commissions enough to more than make up for this story. I was talking about you only the other day to my prospective father-in-law. He's a big man, you know. I am sure I can get him to sit for you . . .

MARION—The tip isn't big enough.

NOLAN—[Scared now that he sees the extent to which he has hurt her.] Marion! . . .

MARION—It amuses me to write my life. I am pleasure-loving—you know that—I will therefore pass up the opportunity of painting your big father-in-law. I will even give up the pleasure of painting you. And we can part friends, then, can't we? [She reaches out her hand to him.] Good-bye, Bunny.

NOLAN—[Devastated.] Marion—you can't do this to me—you can't send me away like
this . . .

MARION—I don't think ever in my life that I've had a vulgar quarrel with anyone. This is the nearest I've come to it. I'm a little annoyed with you for that. I think it's better we part now while we can still do so with some—dignity. Shall we?

NOLAN—You don't realize what's involved—or you wouldn't talk like that . . .

MARION—What is involved?

NOLAN—My entire career. That's what's involved.

MARION—Oh!

NOLAN—This is the most critical moment of my life. My fiancée's father is the most powerful leader of opinion in my state. Frankly, I depend on him for support. To have this kind of thing bandied about now might cause a permanent rift between him and me—might seriously interfere not only with my candidacy for the Senate, but, with my marriage.

MARION—They are interlocking—I quite understand.

NOLAN—A revelation of this kind—coming at this moment—might be fatal . . .

MARION—Revelation! You make me feel like—I can't tell you what you make me feel like . . . [She laughs—semi-hysterically.]

NOLAN—[Sepulchral.] You must give this up, Marion.

MARION—I've met distinguished men abroad—politicians, statesmen—a Prime Minister even—and this kind of "revelation"—as you so luridly call it, is no more to them than a theme for after-dinner banter. They take it in their stride. My God, Bunny, you take it so big!

NOLAN—These people I'm depending on to elect me aren't sophisticated like you or me. [MARION looks at NOLAN with some surprise.] What I mean is—they're country people essentially—my future father-in-law is sympathetic to their point of view.

MARION—Tell me—your father-in-law, is he the man with the chest-expansion?

NOLAN—He's a fine sturdy man—as you perhaps know, he makes a fetish of exercise.

MARION—[Bubbling again.] You see his pictures in shorts in Health Magazines.

NOLAN—There's no disgrace in that.

MARION—[Sits right arm of sofa left.] It doesn't shock me, Bunny. I was just identifying him, that's all.

NOLAN—I owe everything to Kinnicott—I wouldn't be running for the Senate right now if not for him. I can't risk offending him.

MARION—What the devil's happened to you anyway? You used to be quite a nice boy—even fun occasionally . . .

NOLAN—[Wistful—turns away.] Maybe—if you had stuck to me . . .

MARION—Ts! Ts! Ts! Poor Bunny. I'm sorry for you. Really I am! [She strokes his arm.]

NOLAN—[Suddenly passionate—faces her.] Don't touch me!

MARION—[Amazed.] Bunny!

NOLAN—Do you think I'm not human!

MARION—Well, if you aren't the most contradictory . . .

NOLAN—I realized the moment I came in here the other day—the moment I saw you . . .

MARION—[Interrupting.] But Bunny! You're engaged and you're going to be a Senator.

NOLAN—[Walks away from her.] Forget it! Forget I ever said it. . . .

MARION—You bewilder me . . .

NOLAN—[Bitterly.] I'm not surprised I bewilder you. You've spent your life among a lot of foreign counts. It's well known that foreigners are more immoral than we are.

MARION—I'm very touched. I am really. [She kisses him in a friendly way.]

NOLAN—Don't do that! I forbid you!

MARION—All right. I'll never attack you again, I promise.

NOLAN—I wish I had never come back into your life—it was a terrible mistake—you'd forgotten me.

MARION—[Seriously.] Oh, you're wrong. First love—one doesn't forget that.

NOLAN—[Passionately.] But you did! You forgot me! And if you got the chance again, you'd humiliate me again.

MARION—Humiliate! What queer notions you have—Is it a question of pride or vanity between us? We're old friends—friends.

NOLAN—[Moves a step right.] Please forget this—I don't know what came over
me—I . . .

MARION—Of course. There's nothing to forget. [Moves a step toward him.] It's quite all right, dear . . . [She pats him on his hand.] . . . Oh, excuse me . . .

NOLAN—I warn you, Marion—I solemnly warn you—if you persist in this—

MARION—Never in my live have I seen a man vacillate so between passion and threat . . .

NOLAN—I shall find ways to stop you. Mr. Kinnicott, my future father-in-law is a powerful man.

MARION—I know. Extraordinary biceps.

NOLAN—I warn you, Marion. This matter is beyond flippancy.

MARION—[Sits.] There'll be some very distinguished people in my biography. You needn't be ashamed.

NOLAN—That movie-actor!

MARION—Tympi in Hamlet costume—you in a toga. I'll print your portraits on opposite pages—my two men!

NOLAN—You are malicious!

MARION—I must admit, Bunny, that you provoke in me all my malicious impulses. You come here suddenly and you convey to me what I've missed in not marrying you. [The back-door bell rings. MINNIE crosses to answer it during MARION'S speech.] You dangle before me the inventory of your felicities—a career, a fortune, a fabulous bride—and then, because I get a chance to chronicle my own adventures—you object—you tell me I mustn't! I have a nice nature, Bunny, or I should be angry—I should be indignant. [KURT enters.]

NOLAN—[Sharply and with threat.] Now, Marion, I've warned you . . . You'll regret this.

MARION—Hello, Dickie, do talk to Bunny for a minute, will you? [Crosses to the stairs and starts up them to her bedroom.] I've simply got to change. [MINNIE enters up center and exits left.] Feydie's coming to take me out to dinner.

NOLAN—But, Marion . . .

MARION—I couldn't do anything about this in any case, Bunny dear, because I've promised Dickie. In fact, I signed something, didn't I, Dickie? Don't go away either of you. . . . [MARION blows them a kiss into her bedroom. A pause between the two men. KURT crosses down stage to above the model stand. Suddenly, NOLAN goes to KURT and reaches out his hand to him.]

NOLAN—How do you do, young man?

KURT—[Very much surprised.] How do you do? [He looks at him narrowly, his head a little on one side, a terrier appraising a mastiff.]

NOLAN—I am very glad to see you.

KURT—Isn't that nice . . . ?

NOLAN—You may be surprised to learn that on the one occasion when we met you made quite an impression on me.

KURT—Did I?

NOLAN—[Sits sofa right.] You did. Sit down. In fact—I hope you don't mind—if you will allow me as a prerogative of seniority—to ask you a few questions. I have a purpose in mind and not—I trust—an idle purpose.

KURT—Shoot! [Sits.] Anything to enlighten the professor! [He knows he is going to be pumped and has decided to be casual, naive and even respectful.]

NOLAN—[Clearing his throat.] Now then—your present position on the magazine you represent—have you been on it long?

KURT—About two years.

NOLAN—And before that?

KURT—Newspaper work.

NOLAN—And before that?

KURT—Tramping around the world. Odd jobs. Quite a variety.

NOLAN—College?

KURT—Believe it or not—Yale—two years . . . worked my way through—washed dishes.

NOLAN—Very interesting preparation . . . very interesting . . . Tell me now—your present work—do you find it interesting? Is the remuneration satisfactory?

KURT—Two hundred smackers a week. That's twice what I've ever earned in my life before.

NOLAN—Now then—to come to the point—no doubt you've heard of my prospective father-in-law, Mr. Orrin Kinnicott?

KURT—Heard of him! We pay him the compliment of imitation. He is our model, our criterion, our guiding star!

NOLAN—As you know, Mr. Kinnicott's interests are varied. He owns some powerful newspapers in my state. The other day I heard him say that he wanted a new man in Washington.

KURT—[Playing naively excited.] Now that's something to give one's eye-teeth for!

NOLAN—[Pleased at the result.] I think it might be possible to swing it—very possible.

KURT—God, what a break!

NOLAN—As it happens Mr. Kinnicott is at present in town. I shall arrange an appointment for you in the next few days. Naturally, I expect you to keep the matter entirely confidential.

KURT—Naturally! You needn't worry on that score, Senator, I assure you.

NOLAN—Thank you, Mr. Kurt. That is all I ask. [A pause.]

KURT—Mr. Nolan—do you mind if I ask you something?

NOLAN—Certainly not . . .

KURT—You won't consider me impertinent?

NOLAN—[With a smile.] I don't object to impertinence, Mr. Kurt. I was often considered impertinent myself when I was your age.

KURT—Why are you making me this offer?

NOLAN—I am not making you an offer. I shall merely attempt to expedite . . .

KURT—Why? The first time we met we didn't exactly hit it off, now, did we? Why then are you going to all this trouble?

NOLAN—I have discussed you with Miss Froude who is an old friend of mine and whose opinion I greatly respect. She thinks very highly of you, Mr. Kurt. My own impression . . .

KURT—[Inexorably.] Why? What, as they say, is the pay-off?

NOLAN—I'll tell you. I'll tell you quite frankly. I don't want Miss Froude's auto-biography, which you have persuaded her to write, to appear in your magazine. I want it killed!

KURT—Oh! You want it killed?

NOLAN—Exactly.

KURT—Why?

NOLAN—Marion knows why. We needn't go into that.

KURT—[Wounded by a sudden and devastating jealousy.] Good God! You! You too! [MARION enters from balcony. She is wearing a dove-colored evening-dress—the gamine transformed into lady-of-the-world.]

MARION—Well! How have you two boys been getting on? What do you think?

KURT—[Seething. Crosses to foot of stairs.] I'll tell you what I think. . . .

MARION—About the dress I mean . . . [She does a turn for them.]

NOLAN—[Without looking up at her or the dress. He is watching KURT.] It's charming.

MARION—Thank you, Bunny. With all his faults Bunny is much more satisfactory than you are, Dickie.

KURT—[At boiling point.] He's chivalrous he is! His chivalry is so exquisite that he has just been attempting to bribe me to keep your story from being published. His gallantry is so delicate that he's terrified about being mentioned in it.

MARION—[Comes down stairs during KURT'S speech.] Don't be so worked up about it, Dickie. You're another one who takes it big. It's catching!

KURT—[Flaring at her.] You're not very sensitive. . . .

MARION—Why should I be? You misapprehend Bunny. If he doesn't want to be in the same story with me that's his business. And it's nothing to do with chivalry or gallantry or nonsense like that.

NOLAN—Marion—this young man . . .

KURT—[Taunting him.] What about Washington, Mr. Nolan? Mr. Nolan, a prospective Senator offers to bribe me with a post in Washington controlled by his prospective father-in-law. . . .

MARION—If it's a good job take it, Dickie, by all means. . . .

KURT—I am afraid, Marion, that your code is more relaxed than mine . . .

MARION—Code, nonsense! I gave up codes long ago. I'm a big laissez-faire girl!

NOLAN—If this young man is an example of the distinguished company you've come to associate with, Marion . . .

MARION—Don't quarrel children—please. It distresses me.

NOLAN—He's extremely objectionable.

KURT—What about Washington, now, Senator? Are you still willing to expedite . . .! [KURT and NOLAN stand glaring at each other. MARION tries to calm the troubled waters. Crosses to NOLAN.]

MARION—Really, Dickie, you're very naughty. Don't mind him, Bunny. He's very young.

KURT—And incorruptible!

NOLAN—Marion, I claim the privilege of a friendship that antedates Mr. Kurt's by some years, to beg you, very solemnly, not to prostitute your talents to his contemptible, sensation-mongering rag.

KURT—[Faces them.] There's a Senatorial sentence!

MARION—Hush, Dickie, hush! Bunny darling, it's true that Dickie's magazine isn't the Edinburgh Review. On the other hand your assumption that my story will be vulgar and sensational is a little gratuitous, isn't it?

NOLAN—You refuse then?

MARION—[Gently but with a serious overtone.] Yes. This—censorship before publication seems to me, shall we say, unfair. It is—even in an old friend—dictatorial.

NOLAN—[With an air of finality.] You leave me then no alternative. I am very sorry.

KURT—Don't let him frighten you, Marion, he can't do anything.

NOLAN—I can forgive you anything, Marion, but the fact that you value my wishes below those of this insolent young man.

MARION—But this insolent young man hasn't anything to do with it! Can't you see, Bunny—it's my own wish that is involved.

NOLAN—I have explained to you the special circumstances. If you would consent to delay publication till after election. . . . [She turns to KURT to ask him to make this concession but can't get a word in. She is wedged between both of them.]

KURT—She has nothing to do with the publication-date. That's my province. Gosh, what a chance for the circulation-manager in Tennessee! [He rubs his palms together in mock anticipation of profits.]

NOLAN—[Losing his temper at last.] You are tampering with more than you bargain for Mr.—Mr. . . .

KURT—Kurt.

MARION—With a "K".

NOLAN—There are ways of dealing with a young man like this and you'll soon find out what they are!

KURT—Them's harsh words, Senator!

NOLAN—You wait and see.

MARION—Bunny!

NOLAN—Don't speak to me! I never want to see you again! [He goes out.]

MARION—[Really distressed.] This is awful!

KURT—[Highly elated.] It's wonderful!

MARION—But I'm very fond of Bunny. Oh dear! I'll telephone him tonight . . .

KURT—[Grimly.] Over my dead body!

MARION—Can it be, Dickie, that I control the election of Senators from Tennessee? [Sits right end of sofa left.]

KURT—[After a moment.] How could you ever have loved a stuffed-shirt like that!

MARION—He wasn't a stuffed-shirt. That's the funny part. He was charming. He was a charming boy. Rather thin. Rather reticent. He was much nicer than you as a matter of
fact. . . .

KURT—I'm sure he was!

MARION—He was much less violent!

KURT—[Sits.] Hypocritical old buccaneer!

MARION—He used to work hard all day and at night he studied law. We used to walk the country lanes and dream about the future. He was scared—he was wistful. How did he emerge into this successful, ambitious, over-cautious—mediocrity? How do we all emerge into what we are? How did I emerge into what I am? I've dug up some of my old diaries. I was a tremulous young girl. I was eager. I believe I was naive. Look at me now! Time, Dickie . . . What will you be at forty? A bond-holder and a commuter . . . Oh, Dickey!

KURT—[Tensely.] I'll never be forty!

MARION—[Laughing.] How will you avoid it?

KURT—[Same tone.] I'll use myself up before I'm forty.

MARION—Do you think so? I don't think so. [Rises.] I sometimes wake up on certain mornings feeling absolutely—immortal! Indestructible! One is perpetually reborn I think, Dickie. Everyone should write one's life I think—but not for publication. For oneself. A kind of spiritual Spring-cleaning!

KURT—The Ego preening . . .!

MARION—[Sitting right arm of sofa left.] Well, why not? After all, one's ego is all one really has.

KURT—Reminiscence is easy. So is anticipation. It's the present that's difficult and most people are too lazy or too indifferent to cope with it.

MARION—It's natural for you to say that—at your age one has no past and no future either because the intimation of the future comes only with the sense of the past . . .

KURT—[With sudden bitterness.] I see the past as an evil thing—to be extirpated.

MARION—How awful! [Pause.] Why?

KURT—That's not important.

MARION—[Rises.] You freeze up so whenever I try to find out anything about you. I'm not used to that. Usually people open up to me—I'm a born confidante. But not you. . . . I'm interested too, because in an odd way I've become very fond of you.

KURT—My life's very dull, I assure you. My past lacks completely what you would call glamour.

MARION—No, Dickie. I don't believe that. I don't believe that's true of anybody's life.

KURT—Well, it's true. Moreover it's true of most peoples' lives. It's easy for anyone, who's lived as you have to make romantic generalizations. It's very pleasant for you to believe them. Well, I shan't disillusion you. [Turns away from her.] Why should I? It's not important. [She is sitting down, smoking a cigarette in a holder, watching him. He becomes conscious that she is studying him.]

MARION—I had no idea you felt this way about me—you despise me, don't you? [He doesn't answer.] Don't you?

KURT—Yes.

MARION—Why?

KURT—[Rises. Walks away.] Why did we start this?

MARION—You're annoyed at having even momentarily revealed yourself, aren't you? I'll have your secret, Dickie—I'll pluck out the heart of your mystery.

KURT—Secret! Mystery! More romantic nonsense. I have no secret. Nobody has a secret. There are different kinds of greed, different kinds of ambition—that's all!

MARION—Oh, you simplify too much—really I'm afraid you do. Tell me—why do you disapprove of me? Is it—as Bunny does—on moral grounds?

KURT—[Right end of sofa left—angrily.] You're superficial and casual and irresponsible. You take life, which is a tragic thing, as though it were a trivial, bed-room farce. You're a second-rate artist who's acquired a reputation through vamping celebrities to sit for you.

MARION—[Quietly, she continues smoking.] Go on . . .

KURT—As an unglamorous upstart who has been forced to make my way I resent parasitism, that's all!

MARION—Isn't there in biology something about benevolent parasites, Dickie? Many great men, I believe, owe a debt of gratitude to their parasites, as many plants do . . . there are varieties. Again, Dickie, you simplify unduly. It is a defect of the radical and the young.

KURT—To return to the Honorable Nolan . . .

MARION—I return to him with relief . . .

KURT—He may exert pressure on us, you know . . .

MARION—How? I'm very interested. . . .

KURT—Well, for one thing, his future father-in-law might get me fired.

MARION—Could he do that?

KURT—He might. He might easily. [MARION sits upright and looks at him.] Some form of bribery. He might go to my chief and offer him a bigger job—anything.

MARION—All on account of my poor little biography,—it seems incredible that anyone would take all this trouble. . . .

KURT—I'd just like to see them try—I'd just like to, that's all . . .

MARION—What would you do?

KURT—Do?! I'd make the Honorable Nolan the laughing stock of the country and his athletic father-in-law too. I'd just plaster them, that's what I'd do.

MARION—You sound vindictive.

KURT—Baby, I am vindictive!

MARION—Funny, I'm just amused. . . .

KURT—Well, everything's a spectacle to you! [Turns away from her.] God, how I hate detachment!

MARION—Your desire to break up Bunny is quite impersonal then.

KURT—Surgical. Just as impersonal as that.

MARION—You're a funny boy, Dickie.

KURT—[Turns away from her.] I'm not funny and I'm not a boy. You've been around with dilettantes so long you don't recognize seriousness when you see it.

MARION—But it's the serious people who are funny, Dickie! Look at Bunny.

KURT—[Faces her.] Yes, look at him! An epitome of the brainless muddle of contemporary life, of all the self-seeking, second-raters who rise to power and wield power. That's why I'm going to do him in. [The phone rings—for a moment they pay no attention to it.] It's the most beautiful chance anybody ever had and I'd just like to see them try and stop me. [Phone keeps ringing. MARION answers it.]

MARION—Yes . . . yes . . . certainly. [To KURT—a bit surprised.] It's for you . . . [She hands him hand-receiver.]

KURT—[Takes phone and talks from rear of sofa.] Yes. Hello . . . sure. Well, what about it? . . . Oh, you want to talk to me about it, do you? . . . I thought you would . . . I'll be around . . . sure . . . so long. [He hangs up.] They've begun! [He is almost gay with the heady scent of battle.]

MARION—What do you mean?

KURT—That was my chief. He wants to talk to me about your story. Kinnicott's begun to put the screws on him. He's going to ask me to kill it. All right—I'll kill it!

MARION—[Faintly.] I can't believe it. . . .

KURT—Neff's had a call from the father-in-law . . .

MARION—Did he say so?

KURT—No, but you can bet he has!

MARION—I must say this puts my back up . . .

KURT—I'll make a fight for it to keep my job. But if he's stubborn I'll tell him to go to Hell—and go to a publisher with your manuscript. And if I don't get quick action that way I'll publish it myself—I'll put every penny I've saved into it . . .

MARION—But why should you? Why does it mean so much to you?

KURT—Do you think I'd miss a chance like this?— It'll test the calibre of our magazines, of our press, our Senators, our morality . . .

MARION—All on account of my poor little story—how Vicki would have laughed!

KURT—[A spasm of jealousy again.] Who's Vicki?

MARION—[Aware of it.] An old friend to whom I'm dedicating the biography.

KURT—Yeah! [Sits beside her then speaks.] Where is he now?

MARION—He's dead. [A pause. She gets up and crosses to center.] I've always rather despised these contemporary women who publicize their emotions. [Another moment. She walks up stage. She is thinking aloud.] And here I am doing it myself. Too much self-revelation these days. Loud speakers in the confessional. Why should I add to the noise? I think, as far as this story is concerned, I'll call it a day, Dickie.

KURT—What!

MARION—Let's forget all about it, shall we?

KURT—If you let me down now, I'll hate you.

MARION—Will you? Why won't you take me into your confidence then? Why won't you tell me about yourself? What are you after?

KURT—[After a moment of inhibition decides to reveal his secret dream.] My ambition is to be critic-at-large of things-as-they-are. I want to find out everything there is to know about the intimate structure of things. I want to reduce the whole system to absurdity. I want to laugh the powers that be out of existence in a great winnowing gale of laughter.

MARION—That's an interesting research. Of course it strikes me it's vitiated by one thing—you have a preconceived idea of what you will find. In a research biased like that from the start you are apt to overlook much that is noble and generous and gentle.

KURT—[Challenging and bitter.] Have you found generosity and gentleness and nobility?

MARION—A good deal—yes.

KURT—Well, I haven't!

MARION—I'm sorry for you.

KURT—You needn't be. Reserve your pity for weaklings. I don't need it!

MARION—Are you so strong? [A pause. KURT doesn't answer.] How old are you, Dickie?

KURT—[Turns away.] What difference does that make?

MARION—Who do you live with?

KURT—I live alone.

MARION—Are you in love with anybody?

KURT—No.

MARION—Where are your parents?

KURT—They're dead.

MARION—Long?

KURT—My mother is. I hardly remember her. Just barely remember her.

MARION—Your father? [He doesn't answer.] Do you remember your father?

KURT—[In a strange voice.] Yes. I remember him all right.

MARION—What did your father do?

KURT—He was a coal miner.

MARION—Oh! Won't you tell me about him? I'd like to know.

KURT—I was a kid of fourteen. There was a strike. One day my father took me out for a walk. Sunny Spring morning. We stopped to listen to an organizer. My father was a mild little man with kind of faded, tired blue eyes. We stood on the outskirts of the crowd. My father was holding me by the hand. Suddenly somebody shouted: The militia! There was a shot. Everybody scattered. My father was bewildered—he didn't know which way to turn. A second later he crumpled down beside me. He was bleeding. He was still holding my hand. He died like that. . . . [A moment. He concludes harshly—coldly—like steel.] Are there any other glamorous facts of my existence you would like to know?

MARION—[Stirred to her heart.] You poor boy . . . I knew there was something . . . I knew. . . .!

KURT—[Hard and ironic.] It's trivial really. People exaggerate the importance of human life. One has to die. [Turns to her.] The point is to have fun while you're alive, isn't it? Well, you've managed. I congratulate you!

MARION—[Her heart full.] Dickie darling—why are you so bitter against me? Why against me . . .?

KURT—Do you want to know that too? Well, it's because . . . [His voice rises. She suddenly doesn't want him to speak.]

MARION—Hush dearest—hush—don't say any more—I understand—not any more . . . [His defenses vanish suddenly. He sinks to his knees beside her, his arms around her.]

KURT—Marion my angel!

MARION—[Infinitely compassionate, stroking his hair.] Dickie—Dickie—Dickie . . . Why have you been afraid to love me?

THE CURTAIN FALLS

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