THE
LAST ILLUSION
A
One Act Play
By Robert Challis
Published by Robert Challis at Smashwords. Copyright 1995 Robert Challis
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For terms and conditions for performing this play, contact the author on robert.challis@bigpond.com
THE
LAST ILLUSION
A
One Act Play
CHARACTERS
SANDY
a married woman of 25 with a baby.
DAVE a drinker at the
pub.
PETER a writer of 30 years.
GRAEME Sandy's husband, a
man in his late twenties.
THE SET
Stage
left is set up as a Bar in a pub. The bar is just left of centre,
while stage left a small table with two chairs. Stage right is set up
as the living room of a small flat. Just right of centre is a small
table with two empty beer bottles and a glass. Above this, near the
back of the stage is a standing lamp. Stage left is a baby's cot.
Phone on table. There is an exit stage left at the back and just
right of centre at the back. This leads into the bedroom. There is a
further entrance (front door of flat) at front right.
THE ACTION
The
action alternates between the bar and the flat living room. The bar
is well lit, while the living room is dimly lit except in the last
part which takes place in daytime. Action in the bedroom is not seen,
and takes place in complete darkness, the words spoken into
microphones backstage. Alternatively, the bedroom action could be
presented as filmed sequences, projected onto the bedroom wall back
stage, and timed to coincide with action on stage.
Running time: Approx 35 minutes
(Sandy is behind bar, serving Dave. Peter is seated at the one table, watching intently, a half empty glass before him.)
Sandy: 12 o'clock, just about. Bar's closing.
Dave: One last drink, Sandy. Come on, be a sport.
Sandy: You'll get no sport from me.
Dave: You can't kick a man out like that. I've fallen in love with you.
Sandy: It's no use trying to sweet talk me. What would your wife say?
Dave: She's not here, is she? One more drink, do us a favour.
Sandy: The poor lady, she'll be wondering where you are.
Dave: You're right there. I've got to give her time to fall asleep.
Sandy: What sort of husband are you?
Dave: That's what she says. She's always awake, waiting for me, with her... demands.
Sandy: Demands. You're drunk. What are you talking about
Dave: She's a.... healthy woman, is my Sue. Too bloody healthy for me. I can't keep up.
Sandy: I don't want to hear about this.
Dave: Now you, Sandy, you're a different kind of fish.
Sandy: Thanks a million.
Dave: You've got dignity, you've got reserve. You'd wait for your husband to make the first move. You wouldn't be on at him all the time. I tell you, I haven't got the stamina.
Sandy: You want to give up the beer then and take up jogging. And talking of that, it's time you jogged off home.
Dave: Aw, c'mon.
(She ushers him out)
Sandy: Off you go, to your loving wife. (Now to Peter) Clock's on 12. Last drink before the bar closes, or on your way.
Peter: Why do you let him talk to you like that?
Sandy: He's drunk. You just have to kid 'em along. What's it to you?
Peter: You're so much better than he is. You shouldn't put up with that rubbish.
Sandy: Oh, and what makes me so much better than he is, or you for that matter?
Peter: In my case, nothing, except that I'm partly sober. But in your case, there's a world of difference.
Sandy: Yeah, well that's all very well, but if you're not drinking, I'm closing up.
Peter (hastily): Don't do that. A bitters and soda.
Sandy: With lemon and a little umbrella?
Peter: If that would help confirm your image of me.
Sandy (preparing the drink): My image of you sitting there with a half empty glass since I came on duty, eyeing me off and turning up your nose at the other customers. Think you're a class above them.
Peter: If I was looking at them with distaste, it's only the manner I have too much bitters, and too many lemons - a sourness under the nose. I can't help it. And it was only seeing you talking to other men a pure case of jealousy, nothing else. Are you going to have a drink with me?
Sandy: No thanks. I'll clean up the bar, and be off as soon as you've finished. (she serves his drink and busies herself behind bar)
Peter: Please don't hurry. Have you a car? I can drop you off home.
Sandy: I'll be right. Who are you by the way? From around here?
Peter: From here and everywhere. Peter Aldridge. And you are Sandy. Short for Sandra?
Sandy: Sure. What are you then, a salesman, insurance?
Peter: Close. I'm a writer. And you were correct. I was eyeing you off. It's my living. I'm an observer. I observe and read what I see. And then I write it down. And I've been doing it for so long that it's become a skill with me, second nature.
Sandy (interest aroused. She is now wiping down his table): All right, smartarse. What do you see? Let's hear it all.
Peter: But let me buy you a drink.
Sandy: It's all right, I'm not drinking. You're an observer, well I'm a listener. Let's hear it all. (She sits at his table)
Peter: Well how shall I put it, you are a pearl before swine, an exotic tropical fish swimming with tadpoles. You are a lady of sensitivity who somehow finds herself in a situation where her virtues are ignored. Am I right?
Sandy: No, but it's a good line, and I like flattery. Go on.
Peter: But it's not fair. You're different, I can see it. You have sensitive feelings, refined even. Your feelings, your instincts are refined. I can read this in your face and gestures. You've grown up, lived amongst people who couldn't see that perhaps because they were closed to such things in themselves. So you read books you loved romances, stories set in older times, when men were gentlemen, who made their lady feel special. They were courteous to her, and loved her with a love that was both manly and respectful. You aspire to more. Things of the mind attract you. How you'd love to meet a man, refined but strong, who could make love to you with words, with feelings, with his eyes. A Knight in shining armour.
Sandy: Oh yes, and you are this cultured gentleman who'll lead me astray?
Peter: And of course, there's the cynical side to you, that reads between the lines. The experiences of life have made you limit yourself. (He uses her reactions to find out whether he is on the right track) You are married, yes, a man unfeeling, worse, coarse, brutish perhaps not physically, but yes, you were once attracted to the manly macho charisma, and you still relate to it, although now you have seen through it. You married the image that once attracted, and you are somewhat disillusioned. Somewhat is too mild a word. Shitted off? I think so.
Sandy (uneasily): You could be talking about anyone.
Peter: And there would be children. A child? An infant. You work here evenings, I know that. He is unemployed.
Sandy: Short hours at the moment. Some of his mates have been laid off, but he's not unemployed.
Peter: Except when he's at home which is most of the time, or else at the pub. A lazy, sour man, you barely trusted him to look after your baby, while you slave here night after night under a bad tempered boss, serving noisy drunks, almost scared to go home for what you'll find A drunken husband? A dirty crying baby? Unwelcome demands? (Sandy reacts strongly through all this) It strikes a chord. A husband who no longer attracts you physically in fact he puts you off, repels you, you find him repulsive. Night after night he comes on strong, demanding his rights as a husband. You cringe, you use all the excuses, you're tired, you hear the baby, it's your time of the month. You pray he'll be asleep when you get home but he never is. He's as relentless as a battering ram you don't know what it's like to be a man. It'll endanger his health if he doesn't get it. He'll go elsewhere how you wish he would to get him off your back. You wear him down sometimes he wears you down. He vents his lust that's the only way to describe it no tenderness anymore, just the animal act. You feel dirty, used. Sometimes you feel a little physical pleasure and that only makes it worse, because it dirties you even more.
Sandy: That's enough. You've no right. Go home now. You must have a wife yourself. You do the same to her.
Peter: Alas no longer. She is no longer at home.
Sandy: Separated?
Peter: No, dead, but separated before that. (Pause) It's all right, I didn't kill her. (After thought) Have you ever thought of killing him?
(Lights fade with the two looking at each other.)
(Baby crying. Sandy enters living room in darkness. Switches on lamp. Picks up baby to soothe it)
Sandy: Hush my little one. How long have you been crying? He must be deaf or dead drunk. You've been changed. Barb looked in then. She said she would. Thank God we've got Barb. I wouldn't be able to work I couldn't leave you with him. All quiet and happy now? Momma's come home. (Puts baby back in cot) Now sleep my baby. (Kisses baby then goes over to table, picks up one of two empty beer bottles) Two beers tonight...unless you went to the pub. I don't think so - no money. T.V., chicken and chips, a couple of beers, then lie in bed with the baby crying, pretending you're asleep, waiting for yours truly. (Gesture of disgust) Why can't you be a real father? Why don't you ever look at your baby the way Barb's Paul looks at theirs? If you were at least a real father, I could put up with all the rest. Eating, drinking and loafing, that's all you're good for. You're no better than an animal that's all you are, a filthy animal, a nasty rooting pig.
Are you asleep? I hope so, God, let him be asleep. I couldn't face him tonight. It was almost like Peter knew him. Breath stinking of beer and tobacco, half sozzled, whining for me to come across. (Shudders) It's the long nightie for you again, baby. (As she exits into bedroom) God, let him be asleep. (She switches off lamp)
(Extended pause)
Graeme: You're late. I waited up for you. Only just got to sleep. What kept you?
Sandy: I've had a bugger of a night. Why didn't you get up for the baby?
Graeme: I was out to it. Was he crying?
Sandy: He was bawling his head off. How could you sleep through that?
Graeme: It's so late, I couldn't stay awake.
Sandy: I'm so tired I could sleep for a week.
Graeme: You poor baby. I'll rub your back. You don't need to wear that.
Sandy: No don't, I'm cold. I just want to sleep.
Graeme (sympathetically): I'll warm you up. That's the spot. Get rid of all that tension. Boss behave himself tonight?
Sandy: Really, Graeme, I just want to sleep. (Diverting him) Are you working tomorrow?
Graeme (diverted for the moment): Half a day. They reckon there should be more in a week or two.
Sandy: You'll have to be up early tomorrow then. Have you set the alarm?
Graeme: No.
Sandy: I'll get up at six and get you off.
Graeme: There's no need for that, baby. You spoil me.
Sandy: Please don't mess up my hair. (distracting him again) I'll be able to give up my job if work's looking up.
Graeme (suddenly on edge): Not this again. There's the rent, and a whole bunch of bills.
Sandy: There's always bills. I'm sick of the pub. Half sozzled blokes, stinking of beer and tobacco trying to maul me.
Graeme: Who's been trying to maul you?
Sandy (hastily): No one in particular. I'm just sick of it.
Graeme: You're tired, baby. Let me rub your back.
Sandy: It's all right, I just want to sleep.
Graeme: It'll help you sleep. You know it does you good.
Sandy: Sure, until you start getting funny.
Graeme: I won't get funny. Promise.
Sandy (with emphasis): No.
Graeme: Well what do you expect, I'm a man aren't I?
Sandy: I don't feel like it.
Graeme: You never feel like it.
Sandy: Well that's because of this stupid job. I'm always tired.
Graeme: Well you can give up the bloody job.
Sandy: All right I will. Now can I sleep?
Graeme: Come on baby, you know you'll like it. Relax and let yourself go.
Sandy (struggling with him): I don't know how you can enjoy it when you know I don't want it.
Graeme: You never want it. What's wrong with you?
Sandy: I must be bloody frigid.
Graeme: You never used to be like that.
Sandy: It's all you bloody think of now.
Graeme: There's no need to bloody swear.
Sandy: I always swear when I'm tired.
Graeme: What's the big deal anyway? Just a quickie then I'll leave you alone.
Sandy: If it's no big deal, why are you always on at me about it?
Graeme: You don't know what it's like for a man. It's not good for my health. Just give us a helping hand.
Sandy: Let go of my hand.
Graeme: Come on love, let's be nice to each other.
Sandy: No. I've just heard the baby. I can hear him.
Graeme: I can't bloody hear it.
Sandy: You never can.
(Sandy enters living room, switches on lamp.)
Sandy (as if unable to breathe): Give me some space, I can't breathe. Leave me alone, just leave me alone. Why did I marry you? Why don't you run off, leave me and my baby alone? (suddenly and aggressively) You bastard, you filthy creep, why don't you bloody well die? (now shocked and thoughtful) What did Peter say? Have I ever thought of killing him? Yes, that would be it, cave in that thick skull, shut up that whining mouth. Cut off his.... (interrupts herself as she sees and takes hold of a beer bottle) Coming to bed baby? Yes, just coming. I've got a surprise for you. Changed your mind baby? You'll find out. Just close your eyes They're closed now baby. What's the surprise? (suddenly) This, you filthy perverted animal, this and this and this. (going through the actions of braining him with the beer bottle. Finally she stops and buries her face in her hands.) Leave me alone, leave me alone. (cries)
Graeme: What's going on out there? Come to bed.
(Sandy slowly recovers herself, goes out carrying the beer bottle in her hand. Switches off lamp on her way)
Graeme: What have you got the bottle for? Put it down and get into bed. (Pause) Let me rub your back, it'll help you sleep. (lights fade)
(The Bar. Sandy behind bar, Dave drinking. Table empty Sandy keeps glancing over at it.)
Sandy: Drink up Dave, last drinks.
Dave: Aw c'mon Sandy, one last one for the road.
Sandy: We're not going through this again. Look at the clock. (teasing) Your wife will be wondering where you are.
Dave: Not anymore she won't. She's kicked me out.
Sandy: What?
Dave: Not man enough for her she said. She was right too. I just couldn't keep up with her. I'm a once a week man myself. She was on at me every night.
Sandy: You don't have to tell me this you know.
Dave: To tell the truth, I was boasting about once a week. Once a month is more than enough to keep me on an even keel. Strange idea the Maker had when he gave women a stronger sex drive than men. It was bound to lead to trouble. How do you handle the situation?
Sandy: Lovers, dozens of 'em.
Dave (looking at her thoughtfully): Yeah, I'm not surprised. Listen Sandy, I don't like talking about personal things, but something Sue said when she kicked me out has got me worried. (Fixing Sandy with a meaningful stare) Do you think I'm queer?
Sandy (startled): Well I don't know. Do you find yourself looking at men in a certain way?
Dave: I don't look at anyone in a certain way. That's the problem. I was reading in a magazine the other day, that you can go through years of your life acting normally, you know what I mean - normal desires and that, and then suddenly, no warning at all, pouf, you've turned you're a queer.
Sandy: It wouldn't surprise me. But look, it's closing up time now.
Dave: You're waiting for him, aren't you?
Sandy: Him?
Dave: Yeah, the bloke who fancies himself, and sits over there night after night. Where is he now?
Sandy: How should I know?
Dave: A few tete a tetes over the past week or two after the bar closes, eh?
Sandy: I talk to all my customers.
Dave: You don't have to worry about me. I'm all for it. If Sue had got herself a boyfriend to keep her smiling, she might not have had to kick me out.
Sandy: You're talking rubbish. There's nothing going on. He's probably drinking somewhere else, or watching TV. at home.
(Peter enters and goes to the bar. Dave laughs)
Peter: What the hell are you laughing at, you drunk? Get out of here, it's past 12.
Sandy: What do you think you're doing?
Dave: You can't speak to me like that.
Peter: What do you think I've just done? Get out now. (Peter manhandles Dave out through the door)
Dave: There's laws against this, I'll call the police.
Peter: Go ahead and call them, now get the hell out of here.
(Dave is now out)
Sandy: Bloody hell, Peter, you'll get me the sack. Who do you think you are?
Peter: I'm sick of pretence. I'm sick of playing the game. This is it, the night of decision.
Sandy: What are you talking about?
Peter (Pacing): Night after night at that table, waiting till closing time, slowly going mad, catching your eyes once and again, a snatch of conversation, waiting till the bar clears, then the desperate time alone, trying to fit in a lifetime in a short hour before you think you've tested his patience as far as you dare. We can't go on like this, I won't share you with him. Run away with me now.
Sandy: What are you saying, I can't just run off like that. I've got a baby.
Peter: For once in your life, take a risk. What have you got to lose?
Sandy: Only two months we hardly know each other.
Peter: We've known each other for ever. This is fate.
Sandy: You're talking like a madman.
Peter: That's it, you're right, I am a madman and you've driven me to it. You're a part of me now, you're under my skin. I think of you all the time. Don't you know what you've done to me?
Sandy: What I've done to you?
Peter: Yes, what you've done. In two short months, such a change has come over me. Don't you remember me when I first came in here sour and cynical, passionless, an observer of life who had given up living. And then you came into my life, a spark, making me young again And what about you? I remember you as you were then defeated and resigned going through the motions, stuck in a situation you could see no end to. You've also changed, Sandy, and I flatter myself that I had something to do with it. Haven't you felt it? For God's sake don't tell me you haven't. Don't tell me I've made a complete fool of myself.
Sandy: Well...
Peter: Well have you felt anything?
Sandy: You haven't made a fool of yourself.
Peter: That's all I wanted to hear. Don't you believe that it's fate? Separately we were nothing, but together we have the power to change the world. Come on, now, back to my place. Let's make mad passionate love throughout the night. Let us see the new dawn together.
Sandy: I can't, I...
Peter: 0 weak in spirit. Don't say can't, say can. Say it. It's fate. It's written in the stars. Damn the consequences.
Sandy: But Peter, I have a husband and baby.
Peter: There you go, thinking of consequences.
Sandy: But I have to.
Peter: There are no have tos in life except those we make for ourselves. I'm offering you a new life a life with me, new life for both of us.
Sandy: Is it possible?
Peter: It is, it is. (He kisses her passionately) Now, there's not a moment to lose. Come with me.
Sandy: Slow down, it's all moving too quickly.
Peter: Seize the moment, the moment is now, a new life for us together.
Sandy: Look, it's late now. Graeme will be asleep, or at least he'll pretend he is. I'll sneak in, grab a few things I need, get the baby...
Peter: The baby? Look, it's you and me, a beginning. The baby, it's a part of him it's the old life. You have to leave it behind.
Sandy: What, you have to be joking. My baby.
Peter: His baby I've never been more serious.
Sandy: But I can't.
Peter: There you go, using that word again.
Sandy: You don't understand.
Peter: Look at it this way every time I – you - look in that baby's face what will we see? Him! His eyes, nose, mouth. As it grows, his gestures, his walk, his brutishness. You've told me yourself what he's like. Haven't you ever heard of heredity? Do you want to nurture a viper at your breast?
Sandy: My baby needs me.
Peter: Your baby will be all right. Babies are always looked after. Everyone loves babies. You've got a mother haven't you? She can look after it. And he'll soon fix himself up with a new wife I've seen it all before his type always does. He loves his comforts too much. Then she can raise his baby.
Sandy: But that's the point. It's my baby.
Peter: Born out of passion and joy? It's him, the old life. It's now we're talking about, a new dawn the moment of decision.
Sandy: Peter, you've left me behind. I can't make a decision like this on the spur of the moment.
Peter: It's the best kind of decision to make.
Sandy: Please, Peter, please.
Peter: It's the frailty of the weaker sex. You don't have the courage.
Sandy: I need time to think.
Peter: Come home with me.
Sandy: I can't, not tonight.
Peter (making a gesture with his hand to touch her. She turns away): Then be damned. (He turns and goes out.)
(lights fade)
(Sandy enters living room, switches on light. Goes to baby. While she is there, Graeme enters from bedroom.)
Graeme: You're late again. Come to bed.
Sandy: In a minute.
Graeme: No, now, I've got to get up early to work. I need a good night's sleep.
Sandy: I'm not stopping you.
Graeme: What's going on? I'm getting sick of this, night after night.
(Pause)
Sandy: I'm leaving you.
(Pause)
Graeme: What?
Sandy: You heard.
(Pause)
Graeme: You can't leave.
Sandy: You watch me.
Graeme: You've got a baby you've got me. You can't just walk out. What's the matter a bad night?
Sandy: You're the matter. It's us. I can't stand it any longer.
Graeme: You can't just come in and say you're leaving. You've got to have a reason.
Sandy: I've told you. I'm stifling. I'm dying here.
Graeme: You're not making sense. Come to bed, you'll feel better in the morning.
Sandy: I won't feel better in the morning. I never feel better in the morning. It just goes on and on. Don't you understand? This isn't a sudden whim. It's been building up for months; Maybe since the day we started living together. It just can't go on. I can't go on.
Graeme: It's another man.
Sandy: No it's not. (Pause) Yes it is. It's part of it. It was the spark. It was going to happen anyway. He's made me see reality instead of pretending that everything's all right. He's held up a mirror to me, and I don't like what I see.
Graeme: Have you gone to bed with him?
Sandy (exasperated): What difference does that make?
Graeme: A bloody big difference.
Sandy: Yes I have. (Pause) No I haven't. If you'd got any brains you'd know it's far worse than that.
Graeme: Who is he? A drinker at the pub?
Sandy: No. Yes. He's more than that. He's a writer.
Graeme: I see. I'm not good enough for you.
Sandy: No, you're not bloody good enough for me.
(Pause)
Graeme (quietly and vindictively): I can see it all now. Some flash smart alec turns up at the pub, spends the night perving on you, then spins you this line. He's a writer. My aunt's the Pope. He understands you. He thinks you've got quality. You're a cut above the others. He says you're intelligent, refined, a real lady. Your husband's thick. He doesn't understand you. He doesn't appreciate your rare qualities. But Mr. Flash Harry the writer will pull you out of the gutter. He'll be your knight in shining armour.
Sandy (pointedly): Don't you think I have any rare qualities?
Graeme: I've hit the nail on the head, haven't I? I thought you'd got more sense, girl. First conman who comes along with a smooth line, and you're ready to throw in all your responsibilities.
Sandy: Yes, yes, I am. You might be right. But I don't care. At least he offers me something. You offer me nothing.
Graeme: And what do you 'think you give me? It takes two. When do you think of me?
Sandy: It's all my fault then?
Graeme: It's not my bloody fault. You're the one who wants to walk out.
Sandy: And you want everything to stay the same.
Graeme: Just a bit more consideration. I'm content.
Sandy: Well I'm not. I'm not here just for your comfort. I won’t be your little slave. I'm not your property. I won't be your concubine. I won't be your prostitute.
Graeme: Big words. Did you get them off him? What about responsibility? Did he mention that? Did he tell you you're a selfish bitch?
Sandy: Selfish you invented the word.
Graeme: Go to your writer then. See if I care.
Sandy: I will, I will.
(Baby cries keeps crying through all that follows.)
Graeme: See what you've done now. (Goes into bedroom)
(Sandy goes to baby, tries to quieten it but fails.)
Sandy: Hush, hush, Momma's here, go to sleep, hush, hush, don't cry. (Gradually losing control) Come on, shut up will you. Looking at me with your father's eyes. What do you want of me? Always on at me. Two of a kind, Shut up, shut up. (Puts baby down in cot, goes to other side of room. Blocks ears. Paces. Recovers control. Returns to baby. Picks it up) It's all right. Don’t cry. Momma loves you. Hush, hush, everything's all right. (sings) Rock a bye baby in the tree top, when the wind blows the cradle will rock, when the bough bends the cradle will fall ... Your father's nose and mouth. (Quoting Peter) When you walk, his walk. When you grow, his gestures. His voice, his manners. Him, him, him. Shut up you little viper. Shut up, shut up. (Again takes herself to the other side of the room. Regains control. Returns to baby, picks it up. Rocks it) Hush, hush. Come on. For Godsake, I can't stand it. What are you trying to do to me? (Puts baby in cot, collapses to ground, crying, hands to ears.)
(Graeme comes out)
Graeme: You're bloody useless you are. (He takes her by the arm, directs her into the bedroom. He then goes to baby, takes it out, rocks it. Baby soon settles down.) Go to sleep, it's all right. I'll sort out mother, I know how to get round her. Go to sleep. When you wake up, everything'll be normal again. Go to sleep. (He replaces baby in cot and goes back to bedroom, switching off lamp on his way) (From bedroom) He's all right now, I settled him down.
Sandy: Thank you.
Graeme: You know, holding him in my arms there, and looking into his face, he's more like you every day.
Sandy: Is he?
Graeme: The eyes especially, the same warm gentle look. Reminds me of my own mum's too.
Sandy: Really?
Graeme: Truly.
Sandy: I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep.
Graeme: Lie down, pet. Let me rub your back.
(lights fade)
(In living room. Knock on door. It is daytime. Sandy comes in from bedroom and lets Peter in.)
Sandy: You!
Peter: Well?
Sandy: I told you not to come here.
Peter: Things have changed since then. I've changed my mind.
Sandy: So have I.
Peter: Oh?
Sandy: Isn't it strange. You can be living in a certain way or slowly dying but it's all you know, and it seems it's always been that way, and it always will. But then something happens, and you know that nothing can ever be the same again. All at once, in a rush, your whole life turns upside down, and nothing is certain not even where you'll have your next meal.
Peter (impatient): Get to the point.
Sandy: Last night, when you gave me the ultimatum about leaving Graeme and the baby I really believed I was going to do it. And then when you came back for me as I was leaving the pub, I told you all I needed was time to get used to the idea. In my heart of hearts, I had already decided to leave everything for you.
Peter: I don't like the tantalising drift of your words.
Sandy: I had a row last night with Graeme. I told him I was leaving him.
Peter: Good, good.
Sandy: But we made up. We made love.
Peter: What?
Sandy: Yes, like when we first met only different. It was more fulfilling. He told me the baby looks just like me, the eyes especially.
Peter: Oh so easy, how fickle is woman.
Sandy: For me for once, the first time, the only time, it was the full, total experience of life a union with the man who is the father of my child.
Peter: You're sounding like a second rate romantic novel.
Sandy: We believe what we want to believe, don't we Peter. The last thing we lose is our illusions. I realised one thing last night. I can never leave my baby. Separate me from my left arm or right leg first. We're a package deal, my baby and I. It's either all or nothing.
Peter: If you'll just listen, that's what I came to tell you and now it's all too late.
Sandy: But Peter, there's more. I haven't finished. There was the afterglow. I lay in his arms last night. In my heart all was right again. I loved him. I whispered it to him. Do you know what he said?
Peter: I don't want to know.
Sandy: Nothing. He snored.
Peter: What?
Sandy: He snored. Then this morning, I was awake before him, and I watched him wake, my man. In the morning light I watched him, to test my feelings, to see if it was real. I waited to hear his first words, to see the tender look in his eyes, to confirm that last night had been real, and not a dream, that everything was changed for the better. I wanted to believe, Peter, I really wanted to.
Peter: And?
Sandy: There was nothing all emptiness. Just a satisfied, complacent ego, but nothing more. A lazy man, drifting back to the old comfort, demanding breakfast, happy that his woman is nicely back in her place. And as for you, Peter, are you really any different from him? What right have you to stand between me and my baby?
Peter: None whatsoever. And that's what I came here about. I came to withdraw my embargo on your baby.
Sandy: That's a nice way to put it.
Peter: I love you already. I'll learn to love your baby. How can I fail? I love everything about you.
Sandy: Even Graeme's features on my baby?
Peter (doubtfully): Even those.
Sandy: If it weren't so serious, I'd laugh. But I can't. (Loses control and cries. Peter tries to comfort her) Leave me alone. Don't touch me.
(Graeme enters from outside)
Graeme: What the hell's going on here?
Sandy (recovering): I'm leaving you.
Graeme: We sorted that out last night.
Sandy: Did we?
Graeme: But everything was all right this morning.
Sandy: Is all right good enough for you?
Graeme: What the hell are you talking about?
Peter: She means a woman needs more.
Graeme: You keep out of it. Is this the man you're running off with?
Peter: Yes.
Sandy: No.
Peter: What?
Sandy: Don't you listen? I'm leaving the both of you.
Graeme: You can't.
Peter: But Sandy, think about it.
Sandy: I can and I have thought about it.
Peter: You've nowhere to go.
Sandy: Nowhere is much better than here.
Peter: This is madness it's reckless.
Sandy: Didn't you advise me to be reckless?
Peter: But not like this. Where will you go?
Sandy: I've no idea. I don't know where I'll stay tonight, or what I'll be doing one day or one week from now. But whatever it is, I'll face it, and I'll face it without either of you. I am leaving.
Graeme: But the baby, you can't do this.
Sandy: Can't I? (as if as an afterthought) But of course, you could look after the baby. Every time you look in his eyes, you can remember me. Or Peter, you could have it you'd like a keepsake.
Peter: But you said...
Graeme: A baby needs its mother.
Sandy: You can look after him just as well as I can.
Graeme: How can I? I'm a man.
Sandy: You'll just have to learn.
Graeme: You're not leaving the baby with me.
(Sandy goes into bedroom, returns with a small suitcase and a carry cot)
Sandy: In that case, I'll take him with me.
Graeme (barring the way): That's what you think. (Takes hold of her)
Sandy: Peter, help me.
Peter: This is a domestic. Leave me out.
Sandy (calmly putting case and cot down, then quietly and firmly.): Thank you Peter. That finally settles everything for me. (She goes and sits down.) My last illusion or my last but one has now been shattered. Tonight and today, I've had to give them up, one by one. You forced me to it. And the strangest thing is that the two of you are exactly the same. Oh you sound and talk differently. You use a different language. But it all means the same thing. So neither of you will let me leave.
Graeme: Too right.
Peter: I'm not doing anything.
Sandy: It comes to the same thing. Of course, I can just sit it out. I'm not strong enough to fight my way out. But you can't keep me a prisoner here. I can be as patient as I need to be. And the time will come when I can quietly slip out. Or should I ring the police? (She makes as if to get up to go to the phone)
Graeme: Stay where you are.
Peter: Look, this is insane.
Sandy: I can wait. But there is another way.
Graeme: Eh?
Peter: What are you talking about?
Sandy: I said that all my illusions have been shattered all except one. Both of you have said that I'm waiting for a Knight in shining armour to rescue me a man, strong, yet gentle. He will love me for myself, just as I am. To him, I am a lady of quality. To him I am beautiful. Graeme, Peter, here is my challenge. I am throwing down the gauntlet. I am leaving sooner or later probably sooner, unless, unless one of you can rise to the challenge.
Graeme: You're off your rocker.
Peter: I have to agree.
Sandy: This is your last chance. Is either of you man enough for the challenge?
(Peter and Graeme look at each other. Curtain)
Author’s note: If you enjoyed this e-book, please take the time to provide an online review. Also, I would welcome your feedback on mailto:robert.challis@bigpond.com
Other e-books by the same author:
Twilight
of The Bald
Whodunnit
Mrs Christie
Terra
Nullius - The Definite History
Twilight
of The Bald and Other Stories
O
Juliet, Juliet