KURT: I know, isn’t it terrible/ ELLEN: With . KURT: Ellen? ELLEN: Your . KURT: I am American. ELLEN: You talk German. KURT: Only because you like it. ELLEN: I don’t like it anymore. KURT: But just yesterday – ELLEN: Yesterday we weren’t at war. I think you better go. KURT: Baby!? ELLEN: I can’t elope with the enemy. I have to draw the line. KURT: I won’t go! You are talking crazy! I’m American. 100 per cent! I’ll stay here! Ellen, we’re supposed to get married tomorrow – there’s a Justice of the Peace waiting for us in and/ ELLEN: Go. KURT: I won’t leave!
ELLEN: She smells a rat, Daddy. DADDY: Damn. ELLEN: She was knocking on my door asking where you were. I tried to tell her you were in the study studying, but she wasn’t buying. The Pest. DADDY: Has she gone to bed? ELLEN: She’s probably waiting downstairs by the front door, with a gun. Let me smell your breath. DADDY: I only drank vodka. ELLEN: Yup. Potato. DADDY: You’re making that up. ELLEN: Daddy. Did you always drink so much? DADDY: Yes. But I used to hide it better. I’d take long drives in the country. Go away on “business trips”. ELLEN: It’s very selfish of you. DADDY: It’s my way of coping. ELLEN: You know I’ll always cover for you with The Pest. DADDY: Ellen dear. Do you think we should think of some other name for your mother?
1953 music. ELLEN – now 28 - is reading a magazine. The first issue of Playboy. She is finding it quite intriguing. ELLEN: I found this in Daddy’s study. It was in a drawer in his desk, in a file labeled “Boring Stuff”. Which of course made it the first place I looked. Poor Daddy is not good at the art of concealment. Lucky for him The Pest is feeling poorly these days. It’s the very first issue of a magazine called ‘Playboy’ and in my opinion it is a giant step forward. First of all, the publisher is listed as a ‘Hugh Hefner’, which is a good German name. Likely he was born ‘Hugo’. There are women in it who look to be of Germanic persuasion. I think I may subscribe. The won’t mind – it comes in a brown wrapper apparently - and when I’m done reading, I can loan them to poor Daddy and he won’t have to be so furtive. I’ll stash a new file into his desk. “Really Boring Stuff”. Though poor Daddy is so dense he’ll probably just pass by it. Things are not going so well here. I’m 28. My window is open but, as you can see, I’m still waiting for my Bruno. I’m thinking of branching out. I’m thinking of going Dutch. That’s a little joke. What I mean, of course, is ‘trying’ a Dutchman. I’ve studied them. They are ethnically very like Germans, visually the same but a bit taller, on average. Their English is often very good and they are industrious. They were on our side in the war which would solve the strain I have with my German lovers when that topic comes up. I’m not sure how well wooden clogs will work on the ladder, but The Pest is too ill to hear them clumping about in here and Daddy is never home anymore. Vodka calling. Thing is. I’m 28. I should be settling down soon. And if it can’t be a German, then it can be the next best thing.
(Starts to exit.) ELLEN: Where are you going? DADDY: Downstairs. For a drink. ELLEN: Should we call someone? She’s just lying there in her bed. DADDY: I’ll phone the undertaker. Mr. O’Houlihan. ELLEN: Mr. O’Who? DADDY: The man who just bought out Asher and Tunney. The new mortician. ELLEN: O’Houlihan? DADDY: Irish chap. Red face. Will you join me for a drink while I wait? ELLEN: No, I’ll stay up here. In fact, I think I’ll take to my bed. But Daddy – you’re tired and emotional. Let me make the funeral arrangements. DADDY: (Exiting.) Thank you, Ellen – that’s very kind. A trying day, to be sure. But we’ll get through it. (DADDY exits. ELLEN pauses, then runs to her bedside table and pulls out her Yellow Pages. She leafs through it furiously and then begins dialing.) ELLEN: Yes, is this the Funeral Home? Who’m I talking to? Seamus O’Houlihan. Excellent. It’s Ellen McWhirter speaking. I’d like to report a death. My mother. Will you come over? Thank you. And Mr. O apostrophe? I have a slightly unusual request. The front door has frozen
BRIAN: Cuz I’d prefer not to. My fingers are cold and the laces are knotted and/ ELLEN: Then leave them on but for God’s sake don’t clump. Daddy’s deaf but he can feel vibrations. (BRIAN clumps back to the window.) BRIAN: I fell, you know. Your ladder’s icy. It’s dangerous. ELLEN: You didn’t have to wear skates. BRIAN: I’m not wearing them for you. Why can’t you sleep on the ground floor? ELLEN: That would be real exciting. Yawn. BRIAN: And breaking my neck is? ELLEN: (Smiles.) Yes. BRIAN: You’re kinky. I like that. ELLEN: OK, I’m going to pretend I’m asleep. BRIAN: I like that too. ELLEN: (Asleep.) Take off your coat. BRIAN: Now we’re cooking. I like to swing. My wife and I. Someday we should get together with you and your husband, I’d like that, do you think your husband would go along with it, I mean, in the future? For now this is fine, just you and me, but back in Connecticut they have
parties where couples throw their keys in a bowl and the wives pick out a set, well, I’m betting your husband would really like my wife and/ ELLEN: (Waking.) I’m not married. BRIAN: What. ELLEN: No husband. BRIAN: But you said, “Be careful not to wake my husband.” ELLEN: I think if you read my letter again, you’ll see it says “old man”. As in ‘deaf old Daddy who’s got one foot in the grave’. BRIAN: But my fantasy/ ELLEN: Brian – telegram from beep beep de beep beep: I don’t give a hoot about your fantasy. BRIAN: I wanted to sneak into a woman’s bedroom on ice-skates. I clearly told you this in my letter, and you seemed fine with it. And the key part of the fantasy is that your husband is somewhere on the premises, because I like an element of danger and/ ELLEN: Well, that’s not my fantasy and, since I’m hosting, we’ll do mine. I’ve already made enough concessions. After all, you’re ‘Brian’. That’s hardly ethnic. I don’t know what the hell the skates are about. I suppose you’re some kind of Canadian. Brian. I only asked that you come up a ladder, slip in here and pick me up in your arms like I’m 7 years old. BRIAN: Whoah. ELLEN: Pardon.
(FIREMAN turns back to the window and begins hauling something up. He pulls it in. It’s a walker. FIREMAN turns back to ELLEN.) You’ll have to speak clearly and to my right ear. ELLEN: You’re a bit old for a fireman. FIREMAN: 85. ELLEN: That’s old. FIREMAN: It’s very old. ELLEN: What happened to the strapping young men I see in calendars. FIREMAN: They’re professionals. ’s a volunteer fire department. A dog’s breakfast of retirees, and tonight most people are home watching the basketball finals. March Madness. I never liked basketball. Soccer was my game. So it’s just me. The room below here is in flames. ELLEN: That’s the study. It’s full of literature. FIREMAN: Can you walk? ELLEN: You’ll have to carry me. FIREMAN: I’d prefer you walk. ELLEN: I’m old. FIREMAN: So am I.