Death Behind the Tabloids by Rosemary Poole-Carter
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This Play is the copyright of the Author and must not be Performed, Copied or Sold without the Author's prior consentACT I
SCENE 1
Lotus clicks away on the manual typewriter. Ripley is stretched out on
the lumpy sofa, eyes closed. Lotus pauses in her typing, half rises
from her chair, and peers out the window in the fourth wall.
LOTUS: Zina and Felix are at it again.
She checks her desk calendar and jots something down
LOTUS: Let's see, that makes their third row in a week-at least it's
their third out in the yard where I can see. Oh, I wish I could read
lips! Ripley, you should see how Felix is carrying on, flapping his
arms like he's fixing to take flight. Ripley, are you listening to
me?
Ripley groans.
LOTUS: (turning toward Ripley) Well, if you won't take an interest in
the neighbors, I wish you'd take more interest in our place. Don't you
think it's time you took down those plaques over the sofa? “Make love,
not war”-reminders can lose their impact when they start to gather
dust. And “Don't trust anyone over thirty”-I'm sure you passed
thirty a year ago. But I don't know how much longer you'll last with
the hours you keep. You're not eating right either. Think of your art,
Ripley. You can't sculpt when you 're only half-conscious.
Ripley fumbles in a dish on the coffee table and tosses some nuts in
his mouth.
LOTUS: Well, that's a start. But you really need to get serious about
taking those vitamin supplements. And remember bran with every meal.
That will cure your lethargy or apathy or whatever's slowing you
down.
On hands and knees Patsy crawls from stage right to stage left in
front of Lotus's 4th wall window. Patsy has a small brown paper sack
clenched in her teeth. LOTUS, again peering out the front window,
focuses on the distance and doesn't notice Patsy.
LOTUS: Honestly, Ripley, I've never known a more unobservant man.
Life's going on all around you-passions, jealousies, intrigues right
here in your own neighborhood-while you lull yourself into a stupor
reading the tabloids. The way you lie around, one of these days
someone's going to mistake you for a corpse.
Ripley grunts and rolls over. Sound of cats yowling off stage right.
LOTUS: Did you hear that, Ripley? Now our cat's out fighting just like
our neighbors. Sandalwood was out all last night and didn't even come
home for breakfast. What do you think of that, Ripley?
RIPLEY: (yawning) What? You talking to me?
LOTUS: Of course I am. Sandalwood didn't eat his breakfast.
RIPLEY: Maybe he don't like the menu.
LOTUS: Nonsense. Green beans and yogurt make a perfectly nutritious
meal for any cat.
Patsy crawls quickly across from stage left to stage right in front of
the 4th wall, paper sack still clenched in her teeth. Lotus peers out
the front window, looking over Patsy's head just before Patsy
disappears off stage.
RIPLEY: I got an old pair of binoculars under the bed if you need 'em,
Lo.
LOTUS: Certainly not. I was only glancing out the window-wondering
if I might be of some help to Zina. She's over there sobbing her heart
out. Poor girl-so young, just a sophomore, isn't she? Majoring in
women's studies-though men's studies would be more appropriate for
her.
Lotus eats a handful of granola from the dish on the typing table and
sips her tea.
LOTUS: She got off to such a romantic start with Felix. That day when
she was selling flowers on a street corner, he bought a bouquet and
gave them to her. What went wrong?
Sound of door slamming
LOTUS: Now Felix has stormed into his greenhouse, slamming the door as
usual. One of these days he's going to shatter the place down around
him. Oh, Zina's coming this way. Good. I'll get to find out what's
going on.
Lotus hurries to the door and admits Zina.
LOTUS: Come right in, Zina. I can see you're upset.
Lotus rearranges Ripley on the sofa to make room for herself and Zina
to sit side by side. Lotus pulls a bandana handkerchief from
Ripley's pocket and hands it to Zina.
LOTUS: Don't worry, it's clean-Ripley uses his sleeve. Now tell me
what's happened between you and Felix.
ZINA: (dabbing her eyes) Oh, Lotus, ever since I moved in three months
ago the romance has just vanished. All he thinks about now is working
on his Ph.D. in botany, and he only talks to me when he wants me to
water his plants. Or when I can get him into an argument. It used to
be when I came out of class, he'd be waiting for me with a love
offering-an exotic orchid or some strange little fungi in his hands.
But now-nothing! I'm just too convenient for him.
LOTUS: Well, cohabiting couples do tend to settle into a routine.
Lotus pats Ripley's knee and his leg jerks in reflex action.
LOTUS: But when there's a true bond between man and woman, words are
hardly necessary. Isn't that right, Ripley?
RIPLEY: If you say so, Lotus.
ZINA: I wish Felix and I could be good for each other the way you two
are. But Felix is such a dog in the manger. He just mumbles at me
about his vegetables, and then gets all bent out of shape if I have a
stimulating conversation with anyone else.
LOTUS: Hmmm. There may be a little double standard at work here,
Zina.
Lotus moves to typing table and flips through her desk calendar.
LOTUS: I couldn't help noticing that yesterday Felix had a visitor-a
prosperous-looking older woman, who drove a sky blue Lincoln
Continental. Has Felix given you an explanation about his relationship
with this woman?
ZINA: Oh, her. She's just one of those garden club ladies. Felix spoke
to her group last week. He gave the most boring lecture on poisonous
house plants-I had to listen to him practice it twelve times.
Anyway, this woman came by to ask for some cuttings, but I doubt he
gave her any. Felix is so possessive of his precious flora.
LOTUS: Possessive of his fauna, too, apparently.
ZINA: (crossing to stand by Lotus near the window) But why? Oh, at
first I thought it was because he loved me. Now I'm not so sure. Felix
scares me sometimes. I think maybe he's just using me.
LOTUS: Zina, we're liberated women of the 70's. No man uses us without
our permission.
ZINA: I didn't mean he uses me that way. I think he's using me for
experiments.
LOTUS: Experiments! What sort of experiments?
ZINA: Botanical experiments!
RIPLEY: (opening one eye and reaching for a tabloid) Far out, Zina. I
read something just the other day in one of these papers . . . Here it
is. “Scientist Grafts Asparagus Fern onto Bald Man's Scalp.”
LOTUS: Those tabloids! Whatever happened to the enlightening magazines
you used to read-like Rolling Consciousness?
Ripley shrugs and goes on with his reading.
LOTUS: Now, Zina, tell me what you think Felix is trying to do to
you.
ZINA: Well, first he made me use some special eye drops he'd mixed up.
He said that during the Renaissance, some women used an extract from
the nightshade plant to dilate their pupils and make their eyes look
wide and beautiful. That's where the Italian name for the plant came
from-Belladonna-beautiful woman.
LOTUS: (gasps) Belladonna!
ZINA: Yes. Felix even calls me his Bella-Zina, sometimes. And he asks
me to wear this purple blouse because it's the color of deadly
nightshade berries. And then he makes me creams and lotions and
special fortifying drinks-so he calls them-all using plant
extracts.
LOTUS: Well now, some plant extracts can be very beneficial.
ZINA: Yes, in the right hands. But I just read a story in English
class-“Rappuccini's Daughter” by Nathaniel Hawthorne-and that's
when it dawned on me what Felix is up to. He's making me toxic just
the way old Dr. Rappuccini did his daughter, Beatrice. That girl could
kill a butterfly with a single breath.
Lotus starts to give Zina a comforting pat on the arm, then stops and
draws her hand back.
ZINA: You're right to be careful, Lotus. Who knows-even now my
touch may be fatal to anyone but Felix.
LOTUS: My stars!
ZINA: And he's using some of these preparations, too. I guess this is
his twisted way of getting back at me, ruining me for anyone else,
after I told him about all my old boyfriends. But he said he wanted to
know how many.
LOTUS: Oh, Zina, how could you be so simple? All a man really wants
to know is that you think he's the biggest and the best. But if what
you suspect is true, it's certainly one way to insure your future
fidelity. If Felix ever wonders if you've been cozying up to another
man, he'll just have to look for a corpse. Isn't that right, Ripley?
RIPLEY: (from behind a tabloid) If you say so, Lotus.
A knock sounds at front door.
ZINA: Oh, no. That must be Felix come to see if I've decided to be a
good little guinea pig and take my morning dose of herbs. But I won't.
I just can't face him.
LOTUS: (prodding RIPLEY) Ripley, take Zina out to the kitchen and give
her a nice cup of Red Zinger-there's a pot on the stove.
Lotus leans in to whisper to Ripley.
LOTUS: But don't let her touch you. I'll get rid of Felix.
Ripley and Zina exit through the beaded curtain. Lotus opens the front
door to John Blue, who is wearing a trench coat, fedora, and dark
glasses and is holding a stack of spiral notebooks.
LOTUS: Mr. Blue! You're here early! I'm not quite finished-oh,
but I see you've ground out another manuscript for me to type.
JOHN: (thrusting notebooks into Lotus's hands) No time for chitchat,
Miss Toon. I have an important deadline to meet for my new editor.
LOTUS: (gingerly setting the notebooks on the typing table, then
wiping her hands on her peasant skirt) Well, pardon me, Mr. Blue. I
didn't realize there was so much pressure on you to produce your
pornographic prose for Peeper Publications.
JOHN: I'm under pressure to earn the next advance-as if you and that
live-in parasite of yours didn't know. I wonder how many other authors
you've lured into the net with your low typing rates.
Zina peeks through the beaded curtain, then withdraws. John glares in
the direction of the clinking beaded curtain.
LOTUS: Really, Mr. Blue, I don't know what you're talking about. I
still give you the same low rate. Low-to match your literary style.
She looks at the first page of his manuscript.
LOTUS: Bouncing in Bermuda. Is this a sequel to your Jiggling in
Jamaica?
JOHN: Never you mind. Just type it. You have two days.
He pulls an envelope from his breast pocket and hands it to Lotus/
JOHN: Same arrangement as always. Cash-half now and half after I
receive the typed manuscript in my post office box. Understood?
LOTUS: Certainly, Mr. John Blue.
John exits out the front door.
ZINA: (enters, giggling, through beaded curtain) John Blue! Is that
what he calls himself?
LOTUS: (slipping the envelope under a stack of typing paper) Of course
it's a pseudonym. Who'd ever admit to writing the smut he turns out?
I'm sure the man eats red meat three times a day to produce this
bilge. Ah, but this is my compromise with the world of commerce.
Typing for men such as Mr. Blue and my heartless Uncle Kent, so I can
support Ripley's genius-
With a sweep of one arm, she indicates the sculptures.
LOTUS: -and afford a few organically grown vegetables.
ZINA: But listen, Lotus. I know who John Blue really is. I took a
poetry course from him last semester. He's Jason Greer, the most
lecherous professor in the English department. That man could uncover
sexual symbolism in a semi-colon.
LOTUS: I'm not surprised. He's that loathsome-abusing his position
in front of a lot of impressionable college students. While people
such as Ripley and I try to uphold the principles of free love, this
so-called professor advocates a free-for-all. Which reminds me . . .
Lotus opens the front door.
LOTUS: Sandalwood! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!
Lotus closes the door and turns back to Zina.
LOTUS: The next time Sandalwood shows his whiskers around here, I'm
going to put a stop to this tomcatting once and for all.
ZINA: Could be why he stays away.
LOTUS: I'm just trying to do what's best for the males in my life. Now
if you'll excuse me, Zina, I'm going to fix Ripley a nice banana and
tofu smoothie. He hasn't been eating enough lately.
Lotus exits through beaded curtain. Alone, Zina fiddles around with a
few items on Lotus's typing table, then peruses John Blue's
scintillating manuscript. Felix quietly opens the front door, peeks
in, leaves door ajar, and slips up behind Zina. Startled, Zina turns
toward Felix, and he holds out a flower.
FELIX: Don't speak. Just hear me out. In that blouse you look as
beautiful as a purple orchid.
ZINA: Or a deadly nightshade!
FELIX: Oh, Zina, I can't help treating you like a hot house flower.
You're that important to me.
ZINA: Other guys have liked me just fine the way I am, but not you.
You feed me on fertilizer and who knows what else. And put those drops
in my eyes. The next thing I know, you'll be pruning my limbs!
FELIX: Never. You're lovely as you are-willowy.
ZINA: Willowy, is it? I might know my resemblance to a tree would get
your attention. Deny, if you can, that you've been feeding me plant
poisons, making me toxic.
FELIX: Zina, that's crazy. Why would I do a thing like that? My little
hibiscus, my peony.
Felix puts the flower in Zina's hair and breathes on her neck. At
the same time, Patsy peeks in at the front door, a loud meow sounds
from off stage, and Patsy withdraws out of sight.
FELIX: The scent of that special extract I've been feeding you
emanates from your skin. Your flesh is perfumed like mimosa on a
summer night.
Zina relaxes, and Felix embraces her, then notices the bandana
handkerchief in the hip pocket of her jeans. Felix yanks the bandana
from her pocket.
FELIX: Where did this come from?
ZINA: Oh, that's nothing. It's Ripley's.
FELIX: And since when do you carry tokens from Ripley Johnson?
ZINA: Tokens! This isn't the Middle Ages. And if it were, I'd be
giving him my colored scarf at the tournament, not sticking his old
bandana in my jeans.
FELIX: So that's it!
He snatches the flower from Zina's hair.
FELIX: You admit you'd give him your scarf.
ZINA: I didn't mean that. Of course I'd give it to you. But I don't
even have a scarf.
FELIX: And next time you're ticked off at me, you may not have Ripley
to run to either.
Felix exits through beaded curtain, past Lotus, who has been
eavesdropping.
FELIX: Excuse me, Lotus.
LOTUS: (sticking her head through beaded curtain) Zina, I'm going to
get to the bottom of these botany experiments. I am not satisfied with
the answer Felix gave you. Just leave him to me. But first I'll calm
him down with a mug of herbal tea.
ZINA: Oh, don't mention vegetation to me. That man has lichens for
brains!
Zina exits out the front door. Lotus disappears through beaded
curtain, murmuring soothingly to Felix and Ripley, who are growling at
each other off stage. Soon Ripley schleps into the living room, drops
in the bean bag chair, and spreads a tabloid over his face. Newton
Crisp slips in through the front door and skulks about the room,
snooping through things on Lotus's typing table, around the crate
table, bookshelf, and sculptures. Ripley eyes him over the edge of a
tabloid.
RIPLEY: Whatcha looking for, Newt?
NEWTON: Wh . . .what! Oh, Ripley, I didn't see you.
RIPLEY: But you do now. So what brings you here?
NEWTON: I came . . . I came to tell you I've had enough of our
arrangement. No more, you understand?
RIPLEY: I'm not sure I do. Maybe you can explain a little better over
a beer tonight at Pleasures Club.
LOTUS: (entering through the beaded curtain) Felix is tranquil for the
moment. I've sent him out the back door. Oh, who's here now, Ripley?
RIPLEY: Lotus, this is Newton Crisp. Real easy name to
remember-sounds like a cookie.
LOTUS: A store-bought cookie. So, this is that person you told me you
used to go protest marching with before you dropped out of college.
And now, Newton Crisp, you persuade my Ripley to meet you at Pleasures
Club at all hours. Hardly a place conducive to political awareness, I
should think.
NEWTON: I persuade him! Now listen to me . . .
LOTUS: I have no time for you.
She ushers Newton to the front door where he exits under protest.
LOTUS: What a slick-looking character! I don't know what you saw in
him. What was it you told me he does now?
RIPLEY: Newton's a computer programmer at the college, churns out
grade sheets. Real respectable guy.
LOTUS: If you say so, Ripley. But I don't care for him.
She starts typing. A knock sounds at the front door.
LOTUS: Who now?! I'll never get this work done.
She answers door.
Uncle Kent!
KENT: (trying to hand Lotus a stack of papers, but she refuses it)
Morning, Lotus. Here's some contracts I need typed today. Got to
have them by five o'clock.
LOTUS: Oh, not today of all days. I have wills to type for two lawyers
and a novel manuscript with a deadline.
KENT: Well, I have a deadline of my own. The pressure's on me to close
these real estate deals.
He looks at Ripley, who smirks.
KENT: Some folks just won't wait for their payoff.
He sets the contracts on her typing table and snoops around a little
among her things.
LOTUS: And you're one of them. Just how much more typing do I have to
do for you before you'll consider my debt settled?
KENT: I figure you'll keep typing 'til you dump your artist friend
over there. I'll be back at four-thirty for my contracts.
Kent exits out the front door.
LOTUS: The nerve! I should have sold myself on the streets before I
ever borrowed a dime from that crooked commercial conman.
She turns, adoringly, to Ripley.
LOTUS: But I had to raise your bail, Ripley. I couldn't endure the
thought of you eating jail food day after day. And you've gone
straight and never been busted since.
RIPLEY: (from behind a tabloid) If you say so, Lotus.
Ripley turns a page.
RIPLEY: Geez, listen to this in The Inquisitor-“Siamese twins duel
to the death for love of Martian temptress.” You know, I bet I could
lie on a beach somewhere and write this kinda stuff.
Ripley shuffles through more tabloids while Lotus types.
LOTUS: Since you started reading those tabloids, Ripley, you hardly
sculpt at all anymore.
She checks her calendar.
LOTUS: Why, it's been over a month since your soldering iron was even
warm.
RIPLEY: Maybe I'm just sort of generally burned out.
LOTUS: This is news to me. You've never before expressed any
dissatisfaction with our life together.
RIPLEY: Oh, I'm not dissatisfied, Lo. Fact is, things just might start
looking up.
[end of extract]
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