Day One, a Hotel, Evening by Joanna Murray-Smith

Author:Joanna Murray-Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Currency Press

SCENE TWELVE

Same night.

ROSE and STELLA, outside a theatre. ROSE is having a post-show cigarette. STELLA has approached her, holding a modest program and pen. They’ve never met before.

STELLA: ‘I never wanted you, I wanted to be you—’

ROSE: Glad you—yeah—enjoyed— Do I—? Have we—?

STELLA: No, I don’t think so. Although I did see the show yesterday as well.

ROSE: Wow—oh—

STELLA: Matinee and evening—

ROSE: That’s—that’s very heartening.

STELLA: I like watching you.

Beat.

ROSE: Yeah?

STELLA: The way you move.

ROSE: [on guard but hiding] Okay, yeah.

STELLA: I love the theatre. Lose yourself. In the dark. Real hearts and minds up there. Anything can happen.

ROSE: You think: ‘I wonder what’s going to happen tonight?’

STELLA: Standing ovation or silence.

ROSE: Exactly.

STELLA: Someone might yell something back, a colleague might forget his line, a stranger who doesn’t like you because perhaps you are threatening or immoral say, or even just plain unlikeable, could come up, with a knife, like a kitchen knife and just plunge it right between your breasts.

ROSE: Oh.

STELLA: As a for instance.

ROSE definitely wants to get away.

ROSE: [indicating the program] Did you want—?

STELLA: [offering a pen] Oh, lovely. Thanks. Silly but.

ROSE: No! Love to!

STELLA: Little memento.

ROSE: Very flattered.

STELLA: For my husband. He’s your number one fan.

ROSE: I can do with all the fans I can get. Frankly.

STELLA: I gather he finds you very attractive.

ROSE: That’s—well— You know, on a good day!

STELLA: You are very attractive. But it goes, doesn’t it?

ROSE: Definitely.

STELLA: Fades away. To nothing. Before you know it, there are little lines all over your face.

ROSE: [get me out of here] True—

STELLA: Leathery, the skin. Everything dropping. Tits. Over. Goodbye! Arse drops. Waist thickens. Dry skin. Gums go. Hot flushes. Moods. Angry about everything. Sense of pointlessness. And then… dementia. Wandering around neighbourhoods enjoying yourself but not actually knowing who you are. And the only good thing, the only really good thing you have going for you is an electronic tracking device provided by the Department of Social Services.

Beat. ROSE stubs out her cigarette.

ROSE: Who should I sign this to?

STELLA: ‘Tom’ would be lovely.

ROSE: To ‘Tom’?

STELLA: ‘Tom, from your barista.’

Beat.

ROSE: Who are you?

STELLA: Oh, sorry! I’m Stella. I’m Tom’s wife. You remember Tom, don’t you?

ROSE: [resisting] Tom?

STELLA: Tom who licked your nipples at the Something Grand? Tom who supped your juices.

ROSE: [with horrible recognition] Tom.

STELLA: He’s dark and tall and fairly self-amused. Try to disentangle that one from all the others who’ve supped your juices.

ROSE: You’re—

STELLA: His wife.

ROSE: His wife?

STELLA: Yes.

ROSE: You’re his wife?

STELLA: Yes.

Beat.

ROSE: He’s married?

STELLA: Apparently. Yes.

ROSE: Jesus. Look— Fuck.

STELLA: Twelve years.

Beat.

ROSE: But he was waiting for—

STELLA: What?

ROSE: His lover.

STELLA: His—his—?

ROSE: Lover. We got talking because she stood him up.

STELLA: His lover?

ROSE: At the cafe?

STELLA: What?

ROSE: At the cafe. He was—he was stood up.

STELLA: I’m not following. Aren’t you his lover?

ROSE: No, there’s—

STELLA: There’s—?

ROSE: There’s—another lover—

STELLA: There’s another lover?

ROSE: There’s another lover—

STELLA: There’s another lover?

Beat.

ROSE: Violets.

STELLA: What?

ROSE: Violets. Loves them.

STELLA: What?

ROSE: The lover. Loves violets. He had violets.

Murderous intensity on STELLA’s face.

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