THE APPASSIONATA
A Play by Jeffrey Harper
(Based on the play Minuet in a Minefield by Cornelia Ravenal)
Only Art, only art held me back, ah it seemed impossible to me that I should leave
the world before I produced all that I might, and so I spared this wretched life.
– Ludwig van Beethoven
I did my work slowly, drop by drop. I tore it out me of me in pieces.
– Maurice Ravel
Excerpt from Scene 2
(Lights up on the front hall and living room. Nine years later. The sound of a Bach violin
solo is quietly audible, coming from another room in the house. The front door opens, and
PAULINE and JOEL enter, returning from a cocktail party. The violin music stops when the
door shuts. After a pause, there is the sound of piano music—a Chopin piano concerto.
PAULINE laughs merrily, goes to the living room, takes her coat off, lays it over a chair.
JOEL stands by the French doors, still in his overcoat, absently looking around. He’s heard
something. As she speaks, PAULINE studiously examines a watermark left by a glass on a
design magazine on a side table. She frowns, looks at the magazine, then buries the
magazine under a pile of other design magazines across the room. She looks at a set of
fabric swatches draped across the back of the chair. She laughs again.)
PAULINE
I don’t know why you’re not laughing.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
I don’t know why you’re not laughing.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
It was funny.
JOEL
What’s funny?
PAULINE
I’m funny.
JOEL
I’ve said that for years.
PAULINE
Oh, come on, that party was no fun.
JOEL
Of course it wasn’t. Who goes to parties because they’re fun? We stopped that years ago.
PAULINE
It’s true. When did parties become such--work?
JOEL
In our twenties. You insulted that man. He’s on the board of the Frick.
PAULINE
So what? I was only teasing him. Where’s Nicole? I hope she has dinner set. I want her ready when Tom arrives.
JOEL
(Distracted)
Who?
PAULINE
(Enunciating)
Tom Davidson—the man who wants to take your picture—he took that picture of Nicki’s first recital, remember?
JOEL
When’s he coming?
PAULINE
Seven. I told Nicole dinner at nine. Tom may stay for dinner. He was so helpful getting that sculpture for me. That piece is so perfect I may have to keep it for myself: It’s too good for the client. I’ll have a copy made for them.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
For Godsakes, Joel, would you put your hearing aid in? We’re home now.
JOEL
(To himself, hearing the faint piano music)
The phrasing is all wrong.
PAULINE
(Hearing the music, but not uninterested)
Of course it is. She’s not a professional. You are. Were.
(JOEL turns sharply.)
(PAULINE CONT’D)
What do I have to do to get your attention? Now, let’s find out about dinner. And I’d like your help looking at some fabric. I want to get the swatches off the chair before Tom comes over.
JOEL
Who?
PAULINE
The photographer—Tom—the man who is going to take your picture. He’s the one who brought me that spectacular piece from Mexico--
JOEL
(Sarcastic)
Marvelous. Aren’t you always reminding me we’re broke--
PAULINE
Joel, unlike your investments, this can only gain in value—it’s a funereal piece from southern Mexico--
JOEL
To be used at my funeral--
PAULINE
I’ll remember to pray to it. Anyway, I’m selling it to a client for a nice commission. Will you help me with the swatches before Tom gets here?
JOEL
I have to practice first.
PAULINE
(Uncomprehending)
What?
JOEL
I have to practice. That man you insulted spoke to me about a recital. Here in New York. Solo. At the Frick.
PAULINE
Now?
JOEL
(A little intimidated)
No, not now, but--
(With embarrassed delight, PAULINE goes to JOEL to kiss him, but, awkwardly, stops short,
unsure how to proceed.)
PAULINE
But that’s wonderful, Joel--
JOEL
(Modestly)
Nothing is fixed. Frankly, I think he may be lying because he knows I can connect him to some generous donors—who are--
(Smirks)
--lovers of the arts, who might write some fat checks to the museum.
PAULINE
I never thought you’d play publicly--
JOEL
Well, I told him no, of course--
PAULINE
(Containing her annoyance and disappointment)
Why?
(JOEL stares at her. An awkward pause as they resist the argument.)
JOEL
Because I don’t know with my--limitations—if it’s possible--
PAULINE
(Acceding)
Yes. Well...I have good news, too. Tom’s mother’s doing this fabulous house in Mexico—Costa Careyes—south of Puerto Vallarta—near Jimmy Goldsmith’s place—I think that’s where he kept wife number three—or was it four?—or two? That man didn’t want a trophy wife—he wanted a trophy case. Anyway, there’s this wonderful opportunity—God knows we need the money. Have we paid the IRS yet?
JOEL
(Referring to the piano music)
Where did she dream up that phrasing?
PAULINE
Joel--
(No response; he’s engrossed and horrified by the music.)
Joel--
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
Have we paid the IRS?
JOEL
(Irritated)
Who cares? I have to practice. Call me when the photographer arrives.
(JOEL starts to exit through the hallway.)
PAULINE
Will you send Nicole in so she can help me with the swatches?
JOEL
(Exiting)
Fine.
PAULINE
(To herself, after JOEL leaves)
Useless.
(PAULINE hangs her coat in the closet, then returns and looks at the swatches on the chair.
The doorbell rings in the front hall. PAULINE answers it. TOM DAVIDSON enters, ruggedly
handsome, in his middle-late thirties.)
PAULINE
(Charming, but a little annoyed)
Oh, Tom, how good to see you—but you’re a little early. Nicole hasn’t changed yet—and you really should see her at her best—it’ll be a nice surprise—for both of you.
TOM
(Tense)
I’m sorry, but I’ve got to speak to you about the sculpture.
PAULINE
It’s just superb. I was just telling Joel I think it’s too good for the client. I may have to keep it for myself.
TOM
That’s probably wise--
PAULINE
Let me call Nicole--
TOM
No, I need to speak to you alone. Have you seen the Times today?
PAULINE
No--
TOM
Three people were shot and killed in Jalisco, at the excavation site, where that sculpture comes from--
PAULINE
Good God, why?
TOM
Because obviously someone felt his bribe wasn’t big enough or got cut out of the deal--
PAULINE
What do you mean?
TOM
Pieces were being removed without permission--
PAULINE
(Uneasy)
Anyone we know?
TOM
Alistair Greely, the dealer I was working with--
PAULINE
But what was he doing there?
TOM
He thought it was the greatest find of funereal sculptures in Western Mexico in the last thirty years. He wanted to supervise the removal--
PAULINE
You’re saying Alistair Greely was a grave robber—that my piece is stolen?
TOM
Listen, you understood when I told you there might be a problem of “provenance” if the piece were sold on the open market. You said, “Whatever it takes.” And, frankly, Alistair Greely was doing what everybody does down there. Half the pieces on those finds end up in private hands instead of museums. And the museum people are as dirty as anybody.
(A beat)
Something got awfully fucked up.
PAULINE
That’s very perceptive of you. Who killed him?
TOM
They’re saying private security guards, but nobody really knows--
PAULINE
Will the police do anything?
TOM
(Laughs mordantly)
Right. The police probably were involved—someone who wasn’t properly paid, some deal gone south.
PAULINE
When it should have gone north. Geography’s really a much more important subject than I’d imagined. I’ve always thought it was tedious. I had no idea it was so--crude.
(A beat)
TOM
We have to handle the appraisal very carefully.
PAULINE
(A beat, then coolly)
Ah, that. Yes, I imagine you’re very concerned.
TOM
We have a problem, Mrs. Marks--
PAULINE
Does fear make you so formal? Please, Tom--Pauline.
(Looks at the sculpture in the corner)
But it is so beautiful.
(TOM and PAULINE freeze. The lights dim on the living room. Lights up on the piano
room, where NICOLE continues to play the CHOPIN concerto. She misses a few notes,
but perseveres. JOEL watches from the doorway. NICOLE becomes aware of his presence,
struggles, but them mangles a section.)
JOEL
Chopin can be beautiful--
NICOLE
(A little tight)
I’m working on it.
JOEL
Yes. For how long?
NICOLE
(Still looking at the piano)
Several months.
JOEL
I see. But why the concerto? You need an orchestra.
NICOLE
I thought I’d buy a recording of the other parts--
JOEL
But you’re never going to perform with an orchestra—not now, at least. I think you’d be happier mastering a solo work, which you can enjoy and perform alone. Build up a solo repertory when you get more advanced and audition--
NICOLE
(Attempting modesty and honesty)
I don’t know at my age how far--
JOEL
You’re not so old—twenty-one--
NICOLE
Two--
JOEL
(Going to the piano)
Later than most, but, Nicole—look, you’re doing fine, but . . . but, here, listen to me play. You’ve made a good start, but your phrasing--
(NICOLE gets up from the bench, lets JOEL sit down, steps back and watches him.
As he speaks and plays, she gradually moves back to the door.)
JOEL
(Pointing at the sheet music, but ignoring her)
Here: in this passage--
(Plays with his right hand)
—you must distinguish the notes and phrases—otherwise it sounds like porridge—accent gently the beats--
(Singing and emphasizing the beats)
--Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da--
(JOEL plays with both hands, very well—as NICOLE, her interest extinguished, backs away
and stands by the door. JOEL plays a few more measures, totally absorbed. NICOLE exits
the study. JOEL, who has been playing continuously, stops, and, without looking up,
speaks.)
(JOEL CONT'D)
You see?
(HE looks around for NICOLE, shakes his head in disgust, then takes a piece of sheet music
off the piano, Beethoven’s “Hamerklavier” Sonata, opens it, and begins to play. Lights dim
on the room as the music continues. Lights up on the front hall and living room. NICOLE
enters the front hall. PAULINE notices her, uncomfortable with the interruption and annoyed
by NICOLE’s appearance, not in that order.)
PAULINE
Ah, Nicki—you remember Tom Davidson—he took our picture years ago.
NICOLE
Pauline says you do some art dealing on the side--
TOM
(Uncomfortable)
No—not really—I’m not a dealer—I just know some people--
PAULINE
(Acidly)
Knew some people--
TOM
I’ve given people names of some contacts who sell pieces, but I’m not really involved--
PAULINE
Tom, would you excuse us for just a second? Nicki, fix Tom a drink and make him comfortable in the den. I think he’ll find that book of Indonesian art quite fascinating. This room is a mess.
NICOLE
Sure.
(NICOLE and TOM exit. PAULINE looks at the sculpture, then at a few swatches, picking them
up and laying them on the back of the sofa. NICOLE returns.)
PAULINE
That was quick.
NICOLE
He said he wasn’t thirsty.
PAULINE
Really? He looked rather warm to me.
(A beat)
Nicki, isn’t he yummy? I know that sounds so queer, but—what do you and your friends call gorgeous men?
NICOLE
Assholes.
PAULINE
(Laughs)
Yes, they usually are, aren’t they?
(Changing tack)
Nicki, would you mind changing?
NICOLE
What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?
PAULINE
You’re dressed like a cleaning woman. And he’s staying for dinner.
NICOLE
But I’m cooking--
PAULINE
Yes, here, not in a homeless shelter. Besides, he is very handsome, and you should show yourself off to your best advan--
NICOLE
Are you setting us up?
PAULINE
No, I know you hate that. Just put something nice on--
NICOLE
You hate everything I wear--
PAULINE
No, I just--
NICOLE
I could put on that Chinese silk blouse you gave me years ago. It still fits--
PAULINE
(A little distracted by a swatch)
Oh, yes, I remember, it’s so lovely, with that Jacquard print—it still fits?
NICOLE
(Innocently)
Yes, it’s short sleeved.
PAULINE
(Snapping to)
Nicole!
NICOLE
What?
PAULINE
You know what. Don’t be ridiculous. You can borrow my tan cashmere set—wear it with gray flannel slacks--
NICOLE
I’ll ruin it cooking--
PAULINE
For Godsakes, Nicki, just wear an apron and be careful. Just do it for me. It’s important to me--
NICOLE
Why?
PAULINE
Because, if you want to know, his mother is building a house in Mexico, and there’s going to be a very large design contract. She also has a very rich circle of friends--
(Looks at NICOLE)
Nicki, it’s not as though this isn’t for all of us. Please. None of us lives for free here, do we?
NICOLE
No. Sorry. I’ll change.
PAULINE
Thanks, sweetie. And put on some makeup. It brightens up your face so much. Call Tom in, please, will you?
(NICOLE exits through the back hallway, then bellows offstage in a loud, coarse voice.)
NICOLE (offstage, in a coarse voice)
Hey, Tom! My ma wants to talk to ya!
PAULINE
(Lightly calling)
You’re very droll, Nicki.
(TOM enters.)
TOM
We have to talk about the appraisal. Alistair always worked in a gray area, and now that he’s dead on the site, it’s likely someone’s going to check into all his dealings.
PAULINE
Is his name on any of your papers?
TOM
Our papers? Yes.
PAULINE
Is my name?
TOM
We’re all connected on this. Customs has documentation, I have documentation. We’re going to have to find someone else to get the piece appraised. Better still, we’ll get a copy of the piece made. I know someone who’ll do it. If there’s any trouble—we’re clean—stuck with a fake Alistair Greely pawned off on us. We’ll keep the original and deal with it accordingly.
PAULINE
Funny, I always thought people at the National Geographic seemed so—so—nice and decent. I think of all those children cutting up the magazine for school projects, ignorant that they’re cutting and pasting the photographs of common thieves.
TOM
Fine, you want me to call U.S. Customs and tell them you’re the proud owner of stolen antiquities? Don’t step out of the circle, Pauline, because I’ll take you down. You’ve got a treasure that could have been smashed into pieces and smuggled in a suitcase to some eccentric collector in Switzerland. Do you know what you got?
PAULINE
A great deal of trouble for my effort. But one does have to make sacrifices for beauty, I suppose.
(NICOLE appears in the doorway in the tan cashmere sweater. TOM has his back to her.
PAULINE notices her.)
PAULINE
(To NICOLE)
You know, I think my navy turtleneck would look better.
(TOM turns around, but NICOLE has ducked out of the doorway.)
TOM
Do you have a safe place to store the sculpture? I think we’d better hold off on the appraisal for now.
PAULINE
I told my client to have the piece. They’re expecting it next week.
TOM
Can’t you delay it? Tell them you’re waiting for the insurance company’s evaluation.
PAULINE
These people are in the arts—on the board of the Guggenheim. They’ll get their own people--
TOM
(Looking at the sculpture)
Should you even have it out? If people come by and see it--
PAULINE
I rarely entertain at home anymore. The only person who’s seen it is Nicole, and she doesn’t know where it comes from. I’m the only person who uses this room.
(Indicating the French doors)
And I can lock these doors.
(NICOLE appears at the edge of the doorway in the blue cashmere turtleneck, unnoticed by
PAULINE and TOM.)
(PAULINE CONT’D)
(Utterly cool)
Besides I’ve already had the appraisal done.
TOM
(Horrified)
What? You’ve what?
PAULINE
My client was putting pressure on me, I called the man you told me, they said he was away--
TOM
Who did you take it to?
PAULINE
Richard Rosenthal at the Museum of Natural History—the nephew of a friend.
TOM
I told you only--
PAULINE
How should I know I was dealing with thieves? Rosenthal’s not a dealer, he’s a curator, not the police. Besides, Western Mexico’s not his specialty--
TOM
Shit, shit, shit--
PAULINE
Richard understood that a healthy appraisal could make potential donors to the museum very happy.
TOM
(Collecting himself, taking command)
Okay, Pauline. Do not call him again. Do not take his appraisal to an insurance company. We’ll get a copy made, get someone else to declare it a fake, and take that to the insurance people.
PAULINE
Exactly. So why are you so nervous?
TOM
Because--
(Dropping it)
Have you asked your husband about calling David Kennedy at the Times?
PAULINE
I have, but I’m sure he’s forgotten. I’ll remind him tonight.
(PAULINE sees NICOLE in the doorway. Evaluates the blue turtleneck.)
I think that’s a little better—do you like it?
NICOLE
I think they’re both fine--
PAULINE
Yes, but which one?
TOM
(To PAULINE)
I have to drop by the house for a second to pick up my equipment. I’ll be back in a few minutes.
PAULINE
Superb. And don’t forget your pictures. I’m sure Nicki would love to see them. Wouldn’t you?
NICOLE
Very much, actually.
TOM
(Exiting)
I’ll see you soon. Nice to see you again, Nicole.
PAULINE
Don’t worry, Tom. Everything will work out beautifully.
TOM
Goodbye.
(Exits out the front door)
NICOLE
Everything all right?
PAULINE
Just fine. He wants Joel to speak to his friend at the Times—some assignment working overseas—the Congo or some hideous place.
(A beat, then sweetly)
I need some help looking at swatches. I’m going to recover some chairs at the Mertons’—where we just came from. You should have seen me at this party. Joel’s so mad at me.
NICOLE
He’s always mad at you.
PAULINE
I insulted this man. They’re all so stupid. This David Fenwick—one of those WASPs in a Brooks Brothers suit with lips so thin he looks like a large trussed capon. Joel thinks this man will offer him a recital at the Frick—if Joel leads him to some money--
NICOLE
He’ll play again?
PAULINE
(Dismissively)
Probably not. Joel’s too afraid—his hearing, he says, but we know better.
(Changing tack)
Nicki, I wished you’d been there, you would have shrieked—by the way, were you drinking something in here earlier?
NICOLE
(Contrite and remembering)
Oh, I’m sorry, Pauline, the watermark—the phone rang when I was doing something—I’ll get some polish and take it up--
(She goes to a closet by the front door and gets a rag and furniture polish and cleans the
water mark as PAULINE speaks.)
PAULINE
Remember, it’s antique—and also with the magazines: don’t use them as coasters. I use them with clients, and it makes a bad first impression if I show them something that looks like it was read in a bar. Also, with the sculpture out—I probably shouldn’t have removed it from the packing until it’s fully insured—maybe you should just stay out of the room so absolutely nothing can happen.
NICOLE
Okay, sorry. I don’t usually sit there.
PAULINE
(Kidding, with some acid)
Would you be happier with plastic slipcovers on everything? Or maybe I’ll just replace everything with genuine Naugahide furniture. Or a Barcalounger—that’s just what the room needs--
NICOLE
And a pinball machine. So tell me what was so funny.
PAULINE
So I’m talking to this fund manager—I’ve seen his house—dreadful—spent a fortune, naturally—so he could live in the Harvard Club—dark wood, fat leather chairs that practically camouflage him—the house-as-corporate-bunker—the impoverishment of imagination is not to be believed—by the way, you’re cooking the duck tonight?
NICOLE
Pheasant.
PAULINE
Superb. But it’s often a little dry, I find--
NICOLE
Don’t worry--
PAULINE
But maybe it’s because last time we had the duck—your red wind sauce is delicious, but—this is just my preference—maybe you could skim a little more fat off when you make the sauce. Last time, I thought it was a little—I mean, just a bit—greasy, oily, I don’t know. But you know best, you’re so gifted in the kitchen.
NICOLE
Okay.
PAULINE
Oh, would you help me with those swatches?
NICOLE
But I want to hear your funny story.
PAULINE
Oh, that.
(PAULINE takes the swatches and arranges them on the back of the sofa, as she speaks)
Fine, but let’s talk while we do this. Tell me which one you like.
NICOLE
(Having been through this before)
You know I don’t have your eye--
PAULINE
But you have your own taste. Maybe I should put them on the chair one at a time--
NICOLE
I’ll do that and you look.
(She puts one on the back of the chair.)
PAULINE
That’s the wrong side.
NICOLE
Sorry. So you’re talking to David Fenwick--
PAULINE
Do you know his daughter Sarah? He tells me she’s graduating from Princeton and has some fellowship to study in Paris next year.
NICOLE
No, I don’t. You know, Po, it’s not a very funny story.
PAULINE
Of course not, that’s not it. He was telling a group of us why this friend—whom we all know—left his wife—they’re both dreadful—you can’t decide whether they deserved to be married or divorced from each other—probably both. Younger woman, naturally, and, anyway, he’s listing the usual complaints, in-laws, money, poor communication—whatever the hell that is—and he just lets slip, “and, you know, Daphne was beginning to show her age.” So I said—honey, put that blue swatch, no, not that one, the blue one—there, oh, that’s hideous, change it—so I said, “What do you mean ‘she was starting to show her age?’ You think she was hiding it all these years?” What do these idiot men think? They don’t. I said, “Is your friend showing his age—or is he keeping it to himself?” Now he’s red—looking like one of your beautifully roasted ducks--
NICOLE
A Long Island duck with a greasy sauce--
PAULINE
(Chuckling malevolently)
In fact, an oily sheen was beginning to form on his vulgar balding head—have you ever noticed that some men’s hair recedes with distinction—with others it just abandons them—so I added, “You don’t show your age, you just show your wallet and think that’s enough.” You should have seen him.
NICOLE
Po, you’re practically Laurel and Hardy. I guess he won’t be a client--
PAULINE
Him never. Or his friends, but I just couldn’t help myself. I thought one of the women might at least give me a knowing wink—but girls my age are too old for the sisterhood. Their husbands are these Palestinian terrorists and the women act like hostages. Nothing but this passive, dependent resignation, awaiting some miserable fate, too beaten to even hate them, grateful for every crumb and cup of water.
(Picking up a swatch)
Come look at this one with me.
NICOLE
Were there any interesting women there?
PAULINE
Not at this party—except Jennie Overmeyer. Her son won the Rhodes Scholarship, did you hear?
NICOLE
You told me that last week. That…that must make his parents very happy.
PAULINE
Oh, she can’t shut up about it, not that you blame her. What do you think—the taupe or the oatmeal?
NICOLE
Which one’s taupe?
PAULINE
(A little impatient)
The left one. Come on, you know what taupe looks like.
NICOLE
(Agreeably)
No, I don’t. I’ve read too many catalogs, and I no longer can tell the difference between burnt umber, sienna, burgundy, heathered toast. So no interesting women?
PAULINE
Oh, they all sound like a cross between Maya Angelou and William F. Buckley—a convention of TMJ sufferers--
NICOLE
What’s TMJ--
PAULINE
Do you want to hear this story?
NICOLE
Yes.
PAULINE
The point is, Nicki, they’re only housewives, who want to sound like the Duchess of Kent. I want you to promise me that if you marry rich—as you should—you will never stop working.
NICOLE
What about children?
PAULINE
Yes, of course, you can pause for children, like I did, but I continued to work out of my home. I’d have gone mad if I hadn’t.
NICOLE
I’m so happy to hear it.
PAULINE
Please don’t tell me you swallow that propaganda about the joys of child-rearing--
NICOLE
Please, Mom--sorry, I mean, Pauline--your sentimentality is killing me--
PAULINE
No, listen to me--
NICOLE
I’m just sorry to have compromised your--
PAULINE
(Very cross)
Will you listen to me?
(NICOLE is silent.)
It’s bad enough that I have to shout at your father. But he’s deaf.
NICOLE
Is he? Sometimes I think he hears better--
PAULINE
Yes, of course, some things better than others, but not enough to sustain a career, as we’re all beginning to feel--
NICOLE
Has he paid the IRS?
PAULINE
No, of course not, he’s royalty—an artist—we’re tax exempt, we’re living in Ireland, aren’t we?
NICOLE
Ireland?
PAULINE
Didn’t you know? Artists in Ireland live tax-free. Of course, they could never keep the great ones—Joyce, Shaw, Wilde.
(A beat, taking NICOLE to the sofa, where they sit. PAULINE notices NICOLE’S heel pressed
against the skirt of the sofa.)
Honey, your heel.
NICOLE
(Moving her foot.)
Sorry.
PAULINE
(Intimately)
You are my greatest, favorite creation of all--
NICOLE
Better than Andrew--
PAULINE
(Darkly)
Your brother chooses to waste his life in a surf shop on Maui—but that’s not my . . .
(Looks at a swatch, rejects it)
Oh, that’s awful. You see, Nicki, men claim everything of value for themselves—the best jobs, the most power, the most money—they bar us from the door if they can help it. Certainly in my day. But you don’t see them fighting to get in the nursery and cover their hands in poop.
NICOLE
Andrew does.
PAULINE
(Firmly)
Andrew is a loser. Most women who just stay home with infants know how demanding, difficult, and lonely it is. You need something else. How would you like to babysit eighteen hours a day, seven days a week? Please, don’t look at me like I’m Joan Crawford.
NICOLE
(Attempting humor)
Actually, I was thinking about Saint Joan of Arc—a real martyr.
PAULINE
You young girls can’t imagine how hard it was for women before you--
NICOLE
I’m sorry I ruined your life--
PAULINE
Stop the hostile self-pity and think. I spoke to Marcia Goldberg last week and her daughter Sandy—remember her?—she just got nominated for an Emmy for her documentary about the Amazon. She travels everywhere, she gets calls from networks to come on programs as some ecology expert on snakes or insects, and her mother tells me she has men lining up to go on dates with her—an expert on grubs or something. You think she’s in a hurry to marry and give that all up? I mean, it’s pathetic, but the girl has made a success out of worms!
(A pause. NICOLE looks at the floor, ashamed.)
Now, which one is it?
NICOLE
(Quietly)
It must be difficult--
PAULINE
(Looking at the swatches)
What? I think I like the oatmeal.
NICOLE
I said, “It must be difficult— ”
PAULINE
Not really, they’re both beautiful, but one’s just a little more perfect than the other.
(NICOLE takes a breath to speak, then halts, giving up. PAULINE notices.)
PAULINE
Do you like the taupe better?
NICOLE
Either one.
PAULINE
No, tell me, I sincerely want your opinion. I don’t always find it easy to choose.
NICOLE
That’s not what I was talking about.
PAULINE
Oh. What were you talking about?
NICOLE
(After a pause)
I meant it must be difficult for you to have all these friends with successful children winning prizes and awards when I--
(PAULINE flushes scarlet with embarrassment at begin exposed. Her eyes tear.)
PAULINE
No, Nicki, I never—sweetie, I’m sorry--
NICOLE
(Humiliated)
And what can you tell them? “My daughter dropped out of college because she was hospitalized at McLean for depression.”
PAULINE
(Over NICOLE’s lines)
You shouldn’t say that, I don’t--
NICOLE
At least it’s a prestigious loony bin. And I have reduced my medication dosage.
PAULINE
You’re so extraordinary—you don’t think I could have an ordinary child, do you? You’re so amusing--
NICOLE
I’m a real cut-up--
PAULINE
(Shouting)
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
(Embraces NICOLE, overwhelmed)
You’re fine, my precious…You’re beautiful, so much good to come to you…You have so many gifts, you’re so artistic.
NICOLE
(Attempting mordant humor)
Maybe that’s why I’m not married.
PAULINE
Of course, you’ll marry, when you’re older. No interesting woman marries young. Unless she divorces.
NICOLE
I’ll be like Schumann. He never married because it would interfere with his artistic genius.
PAULINE
(Amused in a pained way)
Where did you hear such rubbish? Your father? If only he’d taken his own advice. Be more discriminating where you get your information.
NICOLE
You wish I were more discriminating about everything.
PAULINE
It’s a question of effort, the striving. You don’t want to emulate the life of an artist—you want to emulate the artist’s work. Mozart died a horrible death at an early age and was tossed in a pauper’s grave. I hope you’re not considering doing the same.
(Dramatically flings herself on the couch)
Oh, Pauline, I’m feeling faint—it’s tuberculosis—aren’t I grand and tragic?
(PAULINE laughs. NICOLE smiles weakly.)
NICOLE
Actually, Mozart didn’t die a pauper. It’s a romantic myth. It was a public health measure—everyone got tossed in the same lime pit.
PAULINE
That’s even worse. I do think the other story’s prettier, if not particularly inspirational. Why do democratic measures so often only coarsen life?
NICOLE
(Mischievous)
I like to think of you in the grave--
PAULINE
I’m sure you do.
NICOLE
So I can inherit all your money and bask in the reflected light of one of New York’s greatest living—now dead—decorators—I mean, designers.
PAULINE
Too bad there’s so little money left. Thanks to Joel’s investing genius. And yes, don’t ever say decorator. It sounds like something a suburban housewife does.
(Anticipating reply)
Don’t--
NICOLE
What?
PAULINE
What you’re thinking--
NICOLE
Nothing--
PAULINE
That I am a New York suburban housewife decorator--
NICOLE
Never such a thought—you’re projecting.
PAULINE
(Still playing with the swatches)
Have you noticed that psychobabble is the Muzak of your generation? It’s the elevator music of our age. “I’m co-dependent.” “She’s enabling.” “Dysfunctional,” “projecting”—I mean, really, it’s this bromide buzz you can’t get out of your ear, like some annoying fly. It’s meant to be soothing or insightful--
(Looking at two swatches side by side)
—but, like Muzak, it’s exactly the opposite of everything it’s supposed to be. Instead of being inspiring, delightful, and instructive—as all beautiful things are—it’s foolish, banal, and irritating, and proof of our ignorance of all that’s good.
(A beat. Looks at the swatches)
Those two don’t really go together, do they?
NICOLE
But you did analysis.
PAULINE
That man. I don’t know what was worse—those awful paintings above the couch or his Hush Puppies. Don’t ever do it.
NICOLE
I liked my psychiatrist.
PAULINE
Please, Nicole, you’re beyond that, better than those people. They thought you played the violin for goodness’ sake, not the piano—as if they couldn’t tell the difference. Besides, music may not be what you want. Having a father as a concert pianist probably ruined it for you. Have you thought of doing something else when you go back to school?
NICOLE
I thought about quitting school and going to the CIA.
PAULINE
A spy?
NICOLE
No, the Culinary Institute of America, upstate, to be a chef.
PAULINE
(Disappointed, but ironic)
Oh, I think I liked the spy idea better. All that travel and meeting interesting people. You want to cook all your life?
NICOLE
(Hesitant)
I think it’s creative.
PAULINE
Of course, it’s creative and you’ve always done a lovely job, but, I’m telling you, all you’ll be is a servant of the rich in whites.
NICOLE
(Lightly mocking)
Instead of a Chanel suit.
PAULINE
Fair enough. I do serve the rich, but in design you’re making something to last, that everyone can see, that appeals to something more than stomach hunger. It’s a hunger of the soul to look for beauty, I’ve always felt that. I know you think I’m this hideous Larchmont snob with my aesthetic philosophy, but there is a bigger picture. Listen: our garbage man has a difficult and dirty job, and I hardly think they’re overpaid making forty or fifty thousand dollars a year. Some of those men are your father’s age, out in all sorts of weather, but I hardly think it’s elitist for anyone—and I bet our garbage man feels the same—to want your children to aim for the top.
NICOLE
My psychiatrist liked the idea--
PAULINE
(Pained, as if she’s been hurt)
Of course. Anyone paid by the hour envies salaried people. Enough of your psychiatrist. You’re not a psychiatric patient. You got down, but all it was is the struggle to launch yourself.
(Changing tack)
Maybe instead of the navy, try my black cashmere with the scoop neck.
NICOLE
Show him a little cleavage.
PAULINE
I don’t know why you object to presenting yourself in the best possible light. I read a very interesting thing in The New Yorker: in America a woman is offended if she’s regarded as a sex object; in France she’s offended if she’s not.
NICOLE
You’re a wealth of epigrams.
PAULINE
I find that people of my generation are so much more honest about sexuality than young people. About the role of feminine beauty. Not that it’s news. Jane Austen’s novels are all about beauty—that compelling, winning power of beauty to overwhelm, control, and dominate men—it’s the old magician’s trick:
(Pushes up her breasts)
“See my breasts? Aren’t they lovely?”—while I put my hand in your wallet.
NICOLE
Who says romance is dead?
PAULINE
Attracting successful men is not dishonorable. Don’t you think that has something to do with why you got so depressed? I think of how lonely you must have been away at school--
NICOLE
Is that why you took out personal ads for me?
PAULINE
Let’s not have that discussion; I was only trying to help. They were decent men--
NICOLE
Yes, your age.
PAULINE
I wanted to be safe and attract stable men, so Harvard Magazine’s personal section seemed reasonable--
NICOLE
You lied about my age--
PAULINE
Out of respect because I thought—think—you were mature and should be with a mature, successful man--
NICOLE
But--
PAULINE
(Tearfully angry)
Must we talk about this? Do you have to fight me on everything? Do you have to be like your father and go out of your way to ruin everything I want to do for this family?
(Starts to sob)
We are steadily losing everything—we are practically broke—and I am trying to do something—while your father fiddles at the piano--
(A flash of pure, discombobulating anger)
Rome is burning!
NICOLE
(Goes to her mother to comfort her)
I’ll help you, Po, I’ll go change. I’ll wear the black--
PAULINE
(Collecting herself, but not looking at NICOLE)
It’s in my armoire, bottom left drawer. Will you please tell your father to come and help me with these fabrics?
NICOLE
Yes, Mom—Pauline—I will. I’ll help.
PAULINE
(As NICOLE starts to exit)
And, sweetie, do try a little makeup, it shows off your beautiful face.
(NICOLE exits. PAULINE stares at the swatches and switches a few. She catches sight of
herself in the mirror, doesn’t like what she sees, gets her compact out of her purse, and
redoes her makeup and hair. NICOLE enters the piano room where JOEL is practicing a late
Beethoven Sonata. She watches him. He has a pencil between his teeth and repeatedly
plays a few chords, straining to hear something, which he barely can. JOEL looks up at
NICOLE, flustered.)
JOEL
I can’t hear the notes the way I used to.
NICOLE
(Sad for him)
Yes, I know. Pauline says you may play again.
JOEL
Ah, that. She would like that. But I—why did you walk out on me—I was showing you something--
NICOLE
You were enjoying yourself so much—and—and I had to fix things for dinner—and Pauline wants me to change for the photographer.
JOEL
Did she tell you that you were wearing the wrong scarf with the sweater--
NICOLE
I’m sure she wouldn’t like my underwear if I showed her.
JOEL
Ignore her. Her ideas of beauty are so banal—the aesthetics of the mall.
(Gets up from the piano bench, goes to her, puts his arms around her.)
Your beauty radiates from your soul, through yourself, not covered up by them.
NICOLE
I don’t always feel so beautiful--
JOEL
Who does?—except your mother--
NICOLE
But she is beautiful--
JOEL
(Sitting NICOLE on the bench)
Yes, all fine and good, but listen, Nicole: Walk up Madison Avenue on a Saturday and see the parade of well-dressed philistines and imbeciles—barbarians in the mufti of the leisure class--please. Ignore them. This is the trap, the lure, of a trash culture. The beauty—the only beauty—that matter is unseen. Here:
(He sits at the piano bench, effectively squeezing NICOLE off. She watches as he plays
a phrase from the first movement of Beethoven’s “Appassionata” sonata. Stops. Looks
at NICOLE.)
Still here?
NICOLE
I’m still here.
JOEL
Who can see this? Who can buy this off the rack and wear it? You can buy the recording—everyone can—for sixteen dollars—it’s democratic—practically free—this glory. But you cannot flaunt it like a fur—or diamonds or crystal—or some fucking chandelier and chintz draperies your mother decorates homes with so people can feel superior and cultivated.
(Plays a chord.)
We hear this beauty—and we bow our heads before the genius of the music—humbled by our joy.
NICOLE
Do you miss teaching?
JOEL
Sometimes. But with my hearing—the students aren’t there.
NICOLE
But you seem to hear me just fine.
JOEL
At this level, it’s adequate, but when you’re more advanced, I’ll no longer be able to help you--
NICOLE
I don’t know how far I can advance--
JOEL
Of course not. None of us do.
NICOLE
I’ve thought of switching to the violin. I think I may have a better feel for it.
JOEL
At your age? Why bother? Unless it’s just for amusement. You’ve already put so much time in at the piano.
NICOLE
But I just don’t think I can get much better. I don’t even know if I want to be a professional musician anymore. Since I was in the hospital--
JOEL
The hospital is of no importance, only insofar that you make something of your suffering. That is the lesson of so many great artists, yes? Haydn, Beethoven, writing, writing all their lives, out of unimaginable misery.
(A beat)
But if you don’t want to be a musician, don’t. You may not have the constitution for it.
NICOLE
(Stung)
What do you mean?
JOEL
Perhaps your ambition lies elsewhere.
NICOLE
But I thought you felt there was nothing greater than becoming a musician.
JOEL
True. But I can hardly expect you to make the same sacrifices I have. Perhaps you can find something fine for yourself--
NICOLE
What if I turn out like Andrew?
JOEL
I’m getting to the age when I can no longer afford to be disappointed by my children. If he’s content with anonymous mediocrity—actually, for him, mediocrity would be a step up—but, what can one say? Welcome to the human race.
NICOLE
Why do you and Pauline have to be so mean to him?
JOEL
You think we are hard parents. We are. It’s true. I make no apologies for that. A small one, perhaps, because I love you. I’ve known little but struggle all my life. As you know, my father labored as a glove maker all his life—it was only in his late fifties that he knew wealth—which we were fortunate to inherit. He’d always been a poor man so he couldn’t savor his success—only mine. I labored for my art all my life—now with my difficulty . . . But if we seem hard to you, Nicole, it’s because your mother and I knew that to accomplish something in this life would be hard. We’ve tried to prepare you for this—make you aware that just because you grew up in comfort, you should know that to live an excellent life, a successful life—it is not easy—it is hard. Sacrifice and unceasing work. To see you drift in and out of things until you are forty, childless, unmarried, in some unaccomplished position—that is not what we want for you. And the decisions you make now—they make all the difference in the world. I show you what I mean.
(JOEL plays a few bars at the piano.)
This is an early piece by Beethoven—as a young man. You hear the promise, of brilliance perhaps, but listen to its many faults—the uncertain melody, the uninspired left hand—it’s good, but nothing special. Then this--
(Plays an excerpt from the Hamerklavier)
Genius: but only at the expense of a lifetime of labor.
NICOLE
Was he happy?
JOEL
What?
NICOLE
Was he happy?
JOEL
Yes and no. Please spare me this hippy-vegetarian horseshit that Beethoven would have been happier on a commune eating lentils in a shed of recycled manure. Are the peasants of your beloved Guatemala happy living their simple life—of unceasing repetitive labor, untreated childhood diseases that overwhelm them in later life, enslaved to their superstitions of their own and those the Church imposes on them? Are they?
NICOLE
(Conceding)
Yes and no.
(A beat)
You’re an atheist, aren’t you?
JOEL
(Building to a fury)
Atheist? Yes. I’ve played in churches and heard the ministers and priests thank God for the gift of music. I wanted to rise from my seat at the keyboard and shout, “No, you imbeciles! God didn’t give you the gift of music—musicians gave you the voice of God! We gave you your God! So that out of centuries of longing to feel God’s presence—it is artists, musicians, who allowed God to speak to Man!”
(Subduing, bitter)
And far too little credit we have received.
NICOLE
But what if I can be only good at something? What if—if--
(Hesitates before her blasphemy)
What if I only want to be good—not great?
JOEL
Well, then that’s your choice, but your loss. Nicole, who wants to be only good? When you go to the doctor, do you want a pretty good, an okay doctor, or do you want the best? Where would we be if our great scientists only wanted to be “pretty good”—where would penicillin, vaccines come from? Ask someone with AIDS if they want researchers of mediocre ambition acting on their behalf? That’s the world you want to live in? “I’m sorry you’re dying of a wretched illness, but I’m just not that committed to finding a cure.” Where would we be if Galileo—defying the state and the church, had not dared to cry, “We are not at the center of the universe!”?
NICOLE
We’d still be at the center of the universe.
JOEL
I’ve told you I knew Rubenstein.
NICOLE
(Mischievous)
Helena Rubenstein?
JOEL
Arthur Rubenstein. I played for him in a master class--
PAULINE
(Calling from the hallway)
Joel, will you come help me—Nicki, get your father in here, please--
JOEL
(Taking NICOLE’s arm)
Ignore that. Listen, Nicki, I played a Chopin nocturne for Rubenstein that day—both to honor him—and certainly as an act of hubris—and he was respectful and appreciative, and I felt grateful to be in his presence. Then at the end, he sat down at the keyboard and played the piece for me—and--
(His face still flushes red with the memory)
I was filled with shame for my humble achievement—so great to others—I felt like a brave climber ascending above the clouds—who sees the stars for the first time in his life—and now discovers how far he is from real glory.
(A beat, the defiantly)
But I did not stop climbing--
(Slaps the top of the piano, then subdued)
Until my difficulty--
(To NICOLE)
That is all I ask of you: to keep climbing.
(A beat)
But you’ll do as you wish.
[END OF EXCERPT]
***
© Jeffrey Harper. May not be reproduced or transmitted without author's permission.
A Play by Jeffrey Harper
(Based on the play Minuet in a Minefield by Cornelia Ravenal)
Only Art, only art held me back, ah it seemed impossible to me that I should leave
the world before I produced all that I might, and so I spared this wretched life.
– Ludwig van Beethoven
I did my work slowly, drop by drop. I tore it out me of me in pieces.
– Maurice Ravel
Excerpt from Scene 2
(Lights up on the front hall and living room. Nine years later. The sound of a Bach violin
solo is quietly audible, coming from another room in the house. The front door opens, and
PAULINE and JOEL enter, returning from a cocktail party. The violin music stops when the
door shuts. After a pause, there is the sound of piano music—a Chopin piano concerto.
PAULINE laughs merrily, goes to the living room, takes her coat off, lays it over a chair.
JOEL stands by the French doors, still in his overcoat, absently looking around. He’s heard
something. As she speaks, PAULINE studiously examines a watermark left by a glass on a
design magazine on a side table. She frowns, looks at the magazine, then buries the
magazine under a pile of other design magazines across the room. She looks at a set of
fabric swatches draped across the back of the chair. She laughs again.)
PAULINE
I don’t know why you’re not laughing.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
I don’t know why you’re not laughing.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
It was funny.
JOEL
What’s funny?
PAULINE
I’m funny.
JOEL
I’ve said that for years.
PAULINE
Oh, come on, that party was no fun.
JOEL
Of course it wasn’t. Who goes to parties because they’re fun? We stopped that years ago.
PAULINE
It’s true. When did parties become such--work?
JOEL
In our twenties. You insulted that man. He’s on the board of the Frick.
PAULINE
So what? I was only teasing him. Where’s Nicole? I hope she has dinner set. I want her ready when Tom arrives.
JOEL
(Distracted)
Who?
PAULINE
(Enunciating)
Tom Davidson—the man who wants to take your picture—he took that picture of Nicki’s first recital, remember?
JOEL
When’s he coming?
PAULINE
Seven. I told Nicole dinner at nine. Tom may stay for dinner. He was so helpful getting that sculpture for me. That piece is so perfect I may have to keep it for myself: It’s too good for the client. I’ll have a copy made for them.
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
For Godsakes, Joel, would you put your hearing aid in? We’re home now.
JOEL
(To himself, hearing the faint piano music)
The phrasing is all wrong.
PAULINE
(Hearing the music, but not uninterested)
Of course it is. She’s not a professional. You are. Were.
(JOEL turns sharply.)
(PAULINE CONT’D)
What do I have to do to get your attention? Now, let’s find out about dinner. And I’d like your help looking at some fabric. I want to get the swatches off the chair before Tom comes over.
JOEL
Who?
PAULINE
The photographer—Tom—the man who is going to take your picture. He’s the one who brought me that spectacular piece from Mexico--
JOEL
(Sarcastic)
Marvelous. Aren’t you always reminding me we’re broke--
PAULINE
Joel, unlike your investments, this can only gain in value—it’s a funereal piece from southern Mexico--
JOEL
To be used at my funeral--
PAULINE
I’ll remember to pray to it. Anyway, I’m selling it to a client for a nice commission. Will you help me with the swatches before Tom gets here?
JOEL
I have to practice first.
PAULINE
(Uncomprehending)
What?
JOEL
I have to practice. That man you insulted spoke to me about a recital. Here in New York. Solo. At the Frick.
PAULINE
Now?
JOEL
(A little intimidated)
No, not now, but--
(With embarrassed delight, PAULINE goes to JOEL to kiss him, but, awkwardly, stops short,
unsure how to proceed.)
PAULINE
But that’s wonderful, Joel--
JOEL
(Modestly)
Nothing is fixed. Frankly, I think he may be lying because he knows I can connect him to some generous donors—who are--
(Smirks)
--lovers of the arts, who might write some fat checks to the museum.
PAULINE
I never thought you’d play publicly--
JOEL
Well, I told him no, of course--
PAULINE
(Containing her annoyance and disappointment)
Why?
(JOEL stares at her. An awkward pause as they resist the argument.)
JOEL
Because I don’t know with my--limitations—if it’s possible--
PAULINE
(Acceding)
Yes. Well...I have good news, too. Tom’s mother’s doing this fabulous house in Mexico—Costa Careyes—south of Puerto Vallarta—near Jimmy Goldsmith’s place—I think that’s where he kept wife number three—or was it four?—or two? That man didn’t want a trophy wife—he wanted a trophy case. Anyway, there’s this wonderful opportunity—God knows we need the money. Have we paid the IRS yet?
JOEL
(Referring to the piano music)
Where did she dream up that phrasing?
PAULINE
Joel--
(No response; he’s engrossed and horrified by the music.)
Joel--
JOEL
What?
PAULINE
Have we paid the IRS?
JOEL
(Irritated)
Who cares? I have to practice. Call me when the photographer arrives.
(JOEL starts to exit through the hallway.)
PAULINE
Will you send Nicole in so she can help me with the swatches?
JOEL
(Exiting)
Fine.
PAULINE
(To herself, after JOEL leaves)
Useless.
(PAULINE hangs her coat in the closet, then returns and looks at the swatches on the chair.
The doorbell rings in the front hall. PAULINE answers it. TOM DAVIDSON enters, ruggedly
handsome, in his middle-late thirties.)
PAULINE
(Charming, but a little annoyed)
Oh, Tom, how good to see you—but you’re a little early. Nicole hasn’t changed yet—and you really should see her at her best—it’ll be a nice surprise—for both of you.
TOM
(Tense)
I’m sorry, but I’ve got to speak to you about the sculpture.
PAULINE
It’s just superb. I was just telling Joel I think it’s too good for the client. I may have to keep it for myself.
TOM
That’s probably wise--
PAULINE
Let me call Nicole--
TOM
No, I need to speak to you alone. Have you seen the Times today?
PAULINE
No--
TOM
Three people were shot and killed in Jalisco, at the excavation site, where that sculpture comes from--
PAULINE
Good God, why?
TOM
Because obviously someone felt his bribe wasn’t big enough or got cut out of the deal--
PAULINE
What do you mean?
TOM
Pieces were being removed without permission--
PAULINE
(Uneasy)
Anyone we know?
TOM
Alistair Greely, the dealer I was working with--
PAULINE
But what was he doing there?
TOM
He thought it was the greatest find of funereal sculptures in Western Mexico in the last thirty years. He wanted to supervise the removal--
PAULINE
You’re saying Alistair Greely was a grave robber—that my piece is stolen?
TOM
Listen, you understood when I told you there might be a problem of “provenance” if the piece were sold on the open market. You said, “Whatever it takes.” And, frankly, Alistair Greely was doing what everybody does down there. Half the pieces on those finds end up in private hands instead of museums. And the museum people are as dirty as anybody.
(A beat)
Something got awfully fucked up.
PAULINE
That’s very perceptive of you. Who killed him?
TOM
They’re saying private security guards, but nobody really knows--
PAULINE
Will the police do anything?
TOM
(Laughs mordantly)
Right. The police probably were involved—someone who wasn’t properly paid, some deal gone south.
PAULINE
When it should have gone north. Geography’s really a much more important subject than I’d imagined. I’ve always thought it was tedious. I had no idea it was so--crude.
(A beat)
TOM
We have to handle the appraisal very carefully.
PAULINE
(A beat, then coolly)
Ah, that. Yes, I imagine you’re very concerned.
TOM
We have a problem, Mrs. Marks--
PAULINE
Does fear make you so formal? Please, Tom--Pauline.
(Looks at the sculpture in the corner)
But it is so beautiful.
(TOM and PAULINE freeze. The lights dim on the living room. Lights up on the piano
room, where NICOLE continues to play the CHOPIN concerto. She misses a few notes,
but perseveres. JOEL watches from the doorway. NICOLE becomes aware of his presence,
struggles, but them mangles a section.)
JOEL
Chopin can be beautiful--
NICOLE
(A little tight)
I’m working on it.
JOEL
Yes. For how long?
NICOLE
(Still looking at the piano)
Several months.
JOEL
I see. But why the concerto? You need an orchestra.
NICOLE
I thought I’d buy a recording of the other parts--
JOEL
But you’re never going to perform with an orchestra—not now, at least. I think you’d be happier mastering a solo work, which you can enjoy and perform alone. Build up a solo repertory when you get more advanced and audition--
NICOLE
(Attempting modesty and honesty)
I don’t know at my age how far--
JOEL
You’re not so old—twenty-one--
NICOLE
Two--
JOEL
(Going to the piano)
Later than most, but, Nicole—look, you’re doing fine, but . . . but, here, listen to me play. You’ve made a good start, but your phrasing--
(NICOLE gets up from the bench, lets JOEL sit down, steps back and watches him.
As he speaks and plays, she gradually moves back to the door.)
JOEL
(Pointing at the sheet music, but ignoring her)
Here: in this passage--
(Plays with his right hand)
—you must distinguish the notes and phrases—otherwise it sounds like porridge—accent gently the beats--
(Singing and emphasizing the beats)
--Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da--
(JOEL plays with both hands, very well—as NICOLE, her interest extinguished, backs away
and stands by the door. JOEL plays a few more measures, totally absorbed. NICOLE exits
the study. JOEL, who has been playing continuously, stops, and, without looking up,
speaks.)
(JOEL CONT'D)
You see?
(HE looks around for NICOLE, shakes his head in disgust, then takes a piece of sheet music
off the piano, Beethoven’s “Hamerklavier” Sonata, opens it, and begins to play. Lights dim
on the room as the music continues. Lights up on the front hall and living room. NICOLE
enters the front hall. PAULINE notices her, uncomfortable with the interruption and annoyed
by NICOLE’s appearance, not in that order.)
PAULINE
Ah, Nicki—you remember Tom Davidson—he took our picture years ago.
NICOLE
Pauline says you do some art dealing on the side--
TOM
(Uncomfortable)
No—not really—I’m not a dealer—I just know some people--
PAULINE
(Acidly)
Knew some people--
TOM
I’ve given people names of some contacts who sell pieces, but I’m not really involved--
PAULINE
Tom, would you excuse us for just a second? Nicki, fix Tom a drink and make him comfortable in the den. I think he’ll find that book of Indonesian art quite fascinating. This room is a mess.
NICOLE
Sure.
(NICOLE and TOM exit. PAULINE looks at the sculpture, then at a few swatches, picking them
up and laying them on the back of the sofa. NICOLE returns.)
PAULINE
That was quick.
NICOLE
He said he wasn’t thirsty.
PAULINE
Really? He looked rather warm to me.
(A beat)
Nicki, isn’t he yummy? I know that sounds so queer, but—what do you and your friends call gorgeous men?
NICOLE
Assholes.
PAULINE
(Laughs)
Yes, they usually are, aren’t they?
(Changing tack)
Nicki, would you mind changing?
NICOLE
What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?
PAULINE
You’re dressed like a cleaning woman. And he’s staying for dinner.
NICOLE
But I’m cooking--
PAULINE
Yes, here, not in a homeless shelter. Besides, he is very handsome, and you should show yourself off to your best advan--
NICOLE
Are you setting us up?
PAULINE
No, I know you hate that. Just put something nice on--
NICOLE
You hate everything I wear--
PAULINE
No, I just--
NICOLE
I could put on that Chinese silk blouse you gave me years ago. It still fits--
PAULINE
(A little distracted by a swatch)
Oh, yes, I remember, it’s so lovely, with that Jacquard print—it still fits?
NICOLE
(Innocently)
Yes, it’s short sleeved.
PAULINE
(Snapping to)
Nicole!
NICOLE
What?
PAULINE
You know what. Don’t be ridiculous. You can borrow my tan cashmere set—wear it with gray flannel slacks--
NICOLE
I’ll ruin it cooking--
PAULINE
For Godsakes, Nicki, just wear an apron and be careful. Just do it for me. It’s important to me--
NICOLE
Why?
PAULINE
Because, if you want to know, his mother is building a house in Mexico, and there’s going to be a very large design contract. She also has a very rich circle of friends--
(Looks at NICOLE)
Nicki, it’s not as though this isn’t for all of us. Please. None of us lives for free here, do we?
NICOLE
No. Sorry. I’ll change.
PAULINE
Thanks, sweetie. And put on some makeup. It brightens up your face so much. Call Tom in, please, will you?
(NICOLE exits through the back hallway, then bellows offstage in a loud, coarse voice.)
NICOLE (offstage, in a coarse voice)
Hey, Tom! My ma wants to talk to ya!
PAULINE
(Lightly calling)
You’re very droll, Nicki.
(TOM enters.)
TOM
We have to talk about the appraisal. Alistair always worked in a gray area, and now that he’s dead on the site, it’s likely someone’s going to check into all his dealings.
PAULINE
Is his name on any of your papers?
TOM
Our papers? Yes.
PAULINE
Is my name?
TOM
We’re all connected on this. Customs has documentation, I have documentation. We’re going to have to find someone else to get the piece appraised. Better still, we’ll get a copy of the piece made. I know someone who’ll do it. If there’s any trouble—we’re clean—stuck with a fake Alistair Greely pawned off on us. We’ll keep the original and deal with it accordingly.
PAULINE
Funny, I always thought people at the National Geographic seemed so—so—nice and decent. I think of all those children cutting up the magazine for school projects, ignorant that they’re cutting and pasting the photographs of common thieves.
TOM
Fine, you want me to call U.S. Customs and tell them you’re the proud owner of stolen antiquities? Don’t step out of the circle, Pauline, because I’ll take you down. You’ve got a treasure that could have been smashed into pieces and smuggled in a suitcase to some eccentric collector in Switzerland. Do you know what you got?
PAULINE
A great deal of trouble for my effort. But one does have to make sacrifices for beauty, I suppose.
(NICOLE appears in the doorway in the tan cashmere sweater. TOM has his back to her.
PAULINE notices her.)
PAULINE
(To NICOLE)
You know, I think my navy turtleneck would look better.
(TOM turns around, but NICOLE has ducked out of the doorway.)
TOM
Do you have a safe place to store the sculpture? I think we’d better hold off on the appraisal for now.
PAULINE
I told my client to have the piece. They’re expecting it next week.
TOM
Can’t you delay it? Tell them you’re waiting for the insurance company’s evaluation.
PAULINE
These people are in the arts—on the board of the Guggenheim. They’ll get their own people--
TOM
(Looking at the sculpture)
Should you even have it out? If people come by and see it--
PAULINE
I rarely entertain at home anymore. The only person who’s seen it is Nicole, and she doesn’t know where it comes from. I’m the only person who uses this room.
(Indicating the French doors)
And I can lock these doors.
(NICOLE appears at the edge of the doorway in the blue cashmere turtleneck, unnoticed by
PAULINE and TOM.)
(PAULINE CONT’D)
(Utterly cool)
Besides I’ve already had the appraisal done.
TOM
(Horrified)
What? You’ve what?
PAULINE
My client was putting pressure on me, I called the man you told me, they said he was away--
TOM
Who did you take it to?
PAULINE
Richard Rosenthal at the Museum of Natural History—the nephew of a friend.
TOM
I told you only--
PAULINE
How should I know I was dealing with thieves? Rosenthal’s not a dealer, he’s a curator, not the police. Besides, Western Mexico’s not his specialty--
TOM
Shit, shit, shit--
PAULINE
Richard understood that a healthy appraisal could make potential donors to the museum very happy.
TOM
(Collecting himself, taking command)
Okay, Pauline. Do not call him again. Do not take his appraisal to an insurance company. We’ll get a copy made, get someone else to declare it a fake, and take that to the insurance people.
PAULINE
Exactly. So why are you so nervous?
TOM
Because--
(Dropping it)
Have you asked your husband about calling David Kennedy at the Times?
PAULINE
I have, but I’m sure he’s forgotten. I’ll remind him tonight.
(PAULINE sees NICOLE in the doorway. Evaluates the blue turtleneck.)
I think that’s a little better—do you like it?
NICOLE
I think they’re both fine--
PAULINE
Yes, but which one?
TOM
(To PAULINE)
I have to drop by the house for a second to pick up my equipment. I’ll be back in a few minutes.
PAULINE
Superb. And don’t forget your pictures. I’m sure Nicki would love to see them. Wouldn’t you?
NICOLE
Very much, actually.
TOM
(Exiting)
I’ll see you soon. Nice to see you again, Nicole.
PAULINE
Don’t worry, Tom. Everything will work out beautifully.
TOM
Goodbye.
(Exits out the front door)
NICOLE
Everything all right?
PAULINE
Just fine. He wants Joel to speak to his friend at the Times—some assignment working overseas—the Congo or some hideous place.
(A beat, then sweetly)
I need some help looking at swatches. I’m going to recover some chairs at the Mertons’—where we just came from. You should have seen me at this party. Joel’s so mad at me.
NICOLE
He’s always mad at you.
PAULINE
I insulted this man. They’re all so stupid. This David Fenwick—one of those WASPs in a Brooks Brothers suit with lips so thin he looks like a large trussed capon. Joel thinks this man will offer him a recital at the Frick—if Joel leads him to some money--
NICOLE
He’ll play again?
PAULINE
(Dismissively)
Probably not. Joel’s too afraid—his hearing, he says, but we know better.
(Changing tack)
Nicki, I wished you’d been there, you would have shrieked—by the way, were you drinking something in here earlier?
NICOLE
(Contrite and remembering)
Oh, I’m sorry, Pauline, the watermark—the phone rang when I was doing something—I’ll get some polish and take it up--
(She goes to a closet by the front door and gets a rag and furniture polish and cleans the
water mark as PAULINE speaks.)
PAULINE
Remember, it’s antique—and also with the magazines: don’t use them as coasters. I use them with clients, and it makes a bad first impression if I show them something that looks like it was read in a bar. Also, with the sculpture out—I probably shouldn’t have removed it from the packing until it’s fully insured—maybe you should just stay out of the room so absolutely nothing can happen.
NICOLE
Okay, sorry. I don’t usually sit there.
PAULINE
(Kidding, with some acid)
Would you be happier with plastic slipcovers on everything? Or maybe I’ll just replace everything with genuine Naugahide furniture. Or a Barcalounger—that’s just what the room needs--
NICOLE
And a pinball machine. So tell me what was so funny.
PAULINE
So I’m talking to this fund manager—I’ve seen his house—dreadful—spent a fortune, naturally—so he could live in the Harvard Club—dark wood, fat leather chairs that practically camouflage him—the house-as-corporate-bunker—the impoverishment of imagination is not to be believed—by the way, you’re cooking the duck tonight?
NICOLE
Pheasant.
PAULINE
Superb. But it’s often a little dry, I find--
NICOLE
Don’t worry--
PAULINE
But maybe it’s because last time we had the duck—your red wind sauce is delicious, but—this is just my preference—maybe you could skim a little more fat off when you make the sauce. Last time, I thought it was a little—I mean, just a bit—greasy, oily, I don’t know. But you know best, you’re so gifted in the kitchen.
NICOLE
Okay.
PAULINE
Oh, would you help me with those swatches?
NICOLE
But I want to hear your funny story.
PAULINE
Oh, that.
(PAULINE takes the swatches and arranges them on the back of the sofa, as she speaks)
Fine, but let’s talk while we do this. Tell me which one you like.
NICOLE
(Having been through this before)
You know I don’t have your eye--
PAULINE
But you have your own taste. Maybe I should put them on the chair one at a time--
NICOLE
I’ll do that and you look.
(She puts one on the back of the chair.)
PAULINE
That’s the wrong side.
NICOLE
Sorry. So you’re talking to David Fenwick--
PAULINE
Do you know his daughter Sarah? He tells me she’s graduating from Princeton and has some fellowship to study in Paris next year.
NICOLE
No, I don’t. You know, Po, it’s not a very funny story.
PAULINE
Of course not, that’s not it. He was telling a group of us why this friend—whom we all know—left his wife—they’re both dreadful—you can’t decide whether they deserved to be married or divorced from each other—probably both. Younger woman, naturally, and, anyway, he’s listing the usual complaints, in-laws, money, poor communication—whatever the hell that is—and he just lets slip, “and, you know, Daphne was beginning to show her age.” So I said—honey, put that blue swatch, no, not that one, the blue one—there, oh, that’s hideous, change it—so I said, “What do you mean ‘she was starting to show her age?’ You think she was hiding it all these years?” What do these idiot men think? They don’t. I said, “Is your friend showing his age—or is he keeping it to himself?” Now he’s red—looking like one of your beautifully roasted ducks--
NICOLE
A Long Island duck with a greasy sauce--
PAULINE
(Chuckling malevolently)
In fact, an oily sheen was beginning to form on his vulgar balding head—have you ever noticed that some men’s hair recedes with distinction—with others it just abandons them—so I added, “You don’t show your age, you just show your wallet and think that’s enough.” You should have seen him.
NICOLE
Po, you’re practically Laurel and Hardy. I guess he won’t be a client--
PAULINE
Him never. Or his friends, but I just couldn’t help myself. I thought one of the women might at least give me a knowing wink—but girls my age are too old for the sisterhood. Their husbands are these Palestinian terrorists and the women act like hostages. Nothing but this passive, dependent resignation, awaiting some miserable fate, too beaten to even hate them, grateful for every crumb and cup of water.
(Picking up a swatch)
Come look at this one with me.
NICOLE
Were there any interesting women there?
PAULINE
Not at this party—except Jennie Overmeyer. Her son won the Rhodes Scholarship, did you hear?
NICOLE
You told me that last week. That…that must make his parents very happy.
PAULINE
Oh, she can’t shut up about it, not that you blame her. What do you think—the taupe or the oatmeal?
NICOLE
Which one’s taupe?
PAULINE
(A little impatient)
The left one. Come on, you know what taupe looks like.
NICOLE
(Agreeably)
No, I don’t. I’ve read too many catalogs, and I no longer can tell the difference between burnt umber, sienna, burgundy, heathered toast. So no interesting women?
PAULINE
Oh, they all sound like a cross between Maya Angelou and William F. Buckley—a convention of TMJ sufferers--
NICOLE
What’s TMJ--
PAULINE
Do you want to hear this story?
NICOLE
Yes.
PAULINE
The point is, Nicki, they’re only housewives, who want to sound like the Duchess of Kent. I want you to promise me that if you marry rich—as you should—you will never stop working.
NICOLE
What about children?
PAULINE
Yes, of course, you can pause for children, like I did, but I continued to work out of my home. I’d have gone mad if I hadn’t.
NICOLE
I’m so happy to hear it.
PAULINE
Please don’t tell me you swallow that propaganda about the joys of child-rearing--
NICOLE
Please, Mom--sorry, I mean, Pauline--your sentimentality is killing me--
PAULINE
No, listen to me--
NICOLE
I’m just sorry to have compromised your--
PAULINE
(Very cross)
Will you listen to me?
(NICOLE is silent.)
It’s bad enough that I have to shout at your father. But he’s deaf.
NICOLE
Is he? Sometimes I think he hears better--
PAULINE
Yes, of course, some things better than others, but not enough to sustain a career, as we’re all beginning to feel--
NICOLE
Has he paid the IRS?
PAULINE
No, of course not, he’s royalty—an artist—we’re tax exempt, we’re living in Ireland, aren’t we?
NICOLE
Ireland?
PAULINE
Didn’t you know? Artists in Ireland live tax-free. Of course, they could never keep the great ones—Joyce, Shaw, Wilde.
(A beat, taking NICOLE to the sofa, where they sit. PAULINE notices NICOLE’S heel pressed
against the skirt of the sofa.)
Honey, your heel.
NICOLE
(Moving her foot.)
Sorry.
PAULINE
(Intimately)
You are my greatest, favorite creation of all--
NICOLE
Better than Andrew--
PAULINE
(Darkly)
Your brother chooses to waste his life in a surf shop on Maui—but that’s not my . . .
(Looks at a swatch, rejects it)
Oh, that’s awful. You see, Nicki, men claim everything of value for themselves—the best jobs, the most power, the most money—they bar us from the door if they can help it. Certainly in my day. But you don’t see them fighting to get in the nursery and cover their hands in poop.
NICOLE
Andrew does.
PAULINE
(Firmly)
Andrew is a loser. Most women who just stay home with infants know how demanding, difficult, and lonely it is. You need something else. How would you like to babysit eighteen hours a day, seven days a week? Please, don’t look at me like I’m Joan Crawford.
NICOLE
(Attempting humor)
Actually, I was thinking about Saint Joan of Arc—a real martyr.
PAULINE
You young girls can’t imagine how hard it was for women before you--
NICOLE
I’m sorry I ruined your life--
PAULINE
Stop the hostile self-pity and think. I spoke to Marcia Goldberg last week and her daughter Sandy—remember her?—she just got nominated for an Emmy for her documentary about the Amazon. She travels everywhere, she gets calls from networks to come on programs as some ecology expert on snakes or insects, and her mother tells me she has men lining up to go on dates with her—an expert on grubs or something. You think she’s in a hurry to marry and give that all up? I mean, it’s pathetic, but the girl has made a success out of worms!
(A pause. NICOLE looks at the floor, ashamed.)
Now, which one is it?
NICOLE
(Quietly)
It must be difficult--
PAULINE
(Looking at the swatches)
What? I think I like the oatmeal.
NICOLE
I said, “It must be difficult— ”
PAULINE
Not really, they’re both beautiful, but one’s just a little more perfect than the other.
(NICOLE takes a breath to speak, then halts, giving up. PAULINE notices.)
PAULINE
Do you like the taupe better?
NICOLE
Either one.
PAULINE
No, tell me, I sincerely want your opinion. I don’t always find it easy to choose.
NICOLE
That’s not what I was talking about.
PAULINE
Oh. What were you talking about?
NICOLE
(After a pause)
I meant it must be difficult for you to have all these friends with successful children winning prizes and awards when I--
(PAULINE flushes scarlet with embarrassment at begin exposed. Her eyes tear.)
PAULINE
No, Nicki, I never—sweetie, I’m sorry--
NICOLE
(Humiliated)
And what can you tell them? “My daughter dropped out of college because she was hospitalized at McLean for depression.”
PAULINE
(Over NICOLE’s lines)
You shouldn’t say that, I don’t--
NICOLE
At least it’s a prestigious loony bin. And I have reduced my medication dosage.
PAULINE
You’re so extraordinary—you don’t think I could have an ordinary child, do you? You’re so amusing--
NICOLE
I’m a real cut-up--
PAULINE
(Shouting)
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
(Embraces NICOLE, overwhelmed)
You’re fine, my precious…You’re beautiful, so much good to come to you…You have so many gifts, you’re so artistic.
NICOLE
(Attempting mordant humor)
Maybe that’s why I’m not married.
PAULINE
Of course, you’ll marry, when you’re older. No interesting woman marries young. Unless she divorces.
NICOLE
I’ll be like Schumann. He never married because it would interfere with his artistic genius.
PAULINE
(Amused in a pained way)
Where did you hear such rubbish? Your father? If only he’d taken his own advice. Be more discriminating where you get your information.
NICOLE
You wish I were more discriminating about everything.
PAULINE
It’s a question of effort, the striving. You don’t want to emulate the life of an artist—you want to emulate the artist’s work. Mozart died a horrible death at an early age and was tossed in a pauper’s grave. I hope you’re not considering doing the same.
(Dramatically flings herself on the couch)
Oh, Pauline, I’m feeling faint—it’s tuberculosis—aren’t I grand and tragic?
(PAULINE laughs. NICOLE smiles weakly.)
NICOLE
Actually, Mozart didn’t die a pauper. It’s a romantic myth. It was a public health measure—everyone got tossed in the same lime pit.
PAULINE
That’s even worse. I do think the other story’s prettier, if not particularly inspirational. Why do democratic measures so often only coarsen life?
NICOLE
(Mischievous)
I like to think of you in the grave--
PAULINE
I’m sure you do.
NICOLE
So I can inherit all your money and bask in the reflected light of one of New York’s greatest living—now dead—decorators—I mean, designers.
PAULINE
Too bad there’s so little money left. Thanks to Joel’s investing genius. And yes, don’t ever say decorator. It sounds like something a suburban housewife does.
(Anticipating reply)
Don’t--
NICOLE
What?
PAULINE
What you’re thinking--
NICOLE
Nothing--
PAULINE
That I am a New York suburban housewife decorator--
NICOLE
Never such a thought—you’re projecting.
PAULINE
(Still playing with the swatches)
Have you noticed that psychobabble is the Muzak of your generation? It’s the elevator music of our age. “I’m co-dependent.” “She’s enabling.” “Dysfunctional,” “projecting”—I mean, really, it’s this bromide buzz you can’t get out of your ear, like some annoying fly. It’s meant to be soothing or insightful--
(Looking at two swatches side by side)
—but, like Muzak, it’s exactly the opposite of everything it’s supposed to be. Instead of being inspiring, delightful, and instructive—as all beautiful things are—it’s foolish, banal, and irritating, and proof of our ignorance of all that’s good.
(A beat. Looks at the swatches)
Those two don’t really go together, do they?
NICOLE
But you did analysis.
PAULINE
That man. I don’t know what was worse—those awful paintings above the couch or his Hush Puppies. Don’t ever do it.
NICOLE
I liked my psychiatrist.
PAULINE
Please, Nicole, you’re beyond that, better than those people. They thought you played the violin for goodness’ sake, not the piano—as if they couldn’t tell the difference. Besides, music may not be what you want. Having a father as a concert pianist probably ruined it for you. Have you thought of doing something else when you go back to school?
NICOLE
I thought about quitting school and going to the CIA.
PAULINE
A spy?
NICOLE
No, the Culinary Institute of America, upstate, to be a chef.
PAULINE
(Disappointed, but ironic)
Oh, I think I liked the spy idea better. All that travel and meeting interesting people. You want to cook all your life?
NICOLE
(Hesitant)
I think it’s creative.
PAULINE
Of course, it’s creative and you’ve always done a lovely job, but, I’m telling you, all you’ll be is a servant of the rich in whites.
NICOLE
(Lightly mocking)
Instead of a Chanel suit.
PAULINE
Fair enough. I do serve the rich, but in design you’re making something to last, that everyone can see, that appeals to something more than stomach hunger. It’s a hunger of the soul to look for beauty, I’ve always felt that. I know you think I’m this hideous Larchmont snob with my aesthetic philosophy, but there is a bigger picture. Listen: our garbage man has a difficult and dirty job, and I hardly think they’re overpaid making forty or fifty thousand dollars a year. Some of those men are your father’s age, out in all sorts of weather, but I hardly think it’s elitist for anyone—and I bet our garbage man feels the same—to want your children to aim for the top.
NICOLE
My psychiatrist liked the idea--
PAULINE
(Pained, as if she’s been hurt)
Of course. Anyone paid by the hour envies salaried people. Enough of your psychiatrist. You’re not a psychiatric patient. You got down, but all it was is the struggle to launch yourself.
(Changing tack)
Maybe instead of the navy, try my black cashmere with the scoop neck.
NICOLE
Show him a little cleavage.
PAULINE
I don’t know why you object to presenting yourself in the best possible light. I read a very interesting thing in The New Yorker: in America a woman is offended if she’s regarded as a sex object; in France she’s offended if she’s not.
NICOLE
You’re a wealth of epigrams.
PAULINE
I find that people of my generation are so much more honest about sexuality than young people. About the role of feminine beauty. Not that it’s news. Jane Austen’s novels are all about beauty—that compelling, winning power of beauty to overwhelm, control, and dominate men—it’s the old magician’s trick:
(Pushes up her breasts)
“See my breasts? Aren’t they lovely?”—while I put my hand in your wallet.
NICOLE
Who says romance is dead?
PAULINE
Attracting successful men is not dishonorable. Don’t you think that has something to do with why you got so depressed? I think of how lonely you must have been away at school--
NICOLE
Is that why you took out personal ads for me?
PAULINE
Let’s not have that discussion; I was only trying to help. They were decent men--
NICOLE
Yes, your age.
PAULINE
I wanted to be safe and attract stable men, so Harvard Magazine’s personal section seemed reasonable--
NICOLE
You lied about my age--
PAULINE
Out of respect because I thought—think—you were mature and should be with a mature, successful man--
NICOLE
But--
PAULINE
(Tearfully angry)
Must we talk about this? Do you have to fight me on everything? Do you have to be like your father and go out of your way to ruin everything I want to do for this family?
(Starts to sob)
We are steadily losing everything—we are practically broke—and I am trying to do something—while your father fiddles at the piano--
(A flash of pure, discombobulating anger)
Rome is burning!
NICOLE
(Goes to her mother to comfort her)
I’ll help you, Po, I’ll go change. I’ll wear the black--
PAULINE
(Collecting herself, but not looking at NICOLE)
It’s in my armoire, bottom left drawer. Will you please tell your father to come and help me with these fabrics?
NICOLE
Yes, Mom—Pauline—I will. I’ll help.
PAULINE
(As NICOLE starts to exit)
And, sweetie, do try a little makeup, it shows off your beautiful face.
(NICOLE exits. PAULINE stares at the swatches and switches a few. She catches sight of
herself in the mirror, doesn’t like what she sees, gets her compact out of her purse, and
redoes her makeup and hair. NICOLE enters the piano room where JOEL is practicing a late
Beethoven Sonata. She watches him. He has a pencil between his teeth and repeatedly
plays a few chords, straining to hear something, which he barely can. JOEL looks up at
NICOLE, flustered.)
JOEL
I can’t hear the notes the way I used to.
NICOLE
(Sad for him)
Yes, I know. Pauline says you may play again.
JOEL
Ah, that. She would like that. But I—why did you walk out on me—I was showing you something--
NICOLE
You were enjoying yourself so much—and—and I had to fix things for dinner—and Pauline wants me to change for the photographer.
JOEL
Did she tell you that you were wearing the wrong scarf with the sweater--
NICOLE
I’m sure she wouldn’t like my underwear if I showed her.
JOEL
Ignore her. Her ideas of beauty are so banal—the aesthetics of the mall.
(Gets up from the piano bench, goes to her, puts his arms around her.)
Your beauty radiates from your soul, through yourself, not covered up by them.
NICOLE
I don’t always feel so beautiful--
JOEL
Who does?—except your mother--
NICOLE
But she is beautiful--
JOEL
(Sitting NICOLE on the bench)
Yes, all fine and good, but listen, Nicole: Walk up Madison Avenue on a Saturday and see the parade of well-dressed philistines and imbeciles—barbarians in the mufti of the leisure class--please. Ignore them. This is the trap, the lure, of a trash culture. The beauty—the only beauty—that matter is unseen. Here:
(He sits at the piano bench, effectively squeezing NICOLE off. She watches as he plays
a phrase from the first movement of Beethoven’s “Appassionata” sonata. Stops. Looks
at NICOLE.)
Still here?
NICOLE
I’m still here.
JOEL
Who can see this? Who can buy this off the rack and wear it? You can buy the recording—everyone can—for sixteen dollars—it’s democratic—practically free—this glory. But you cannot flaunt it like a fur—or diamonds or crystal—or some fucking chandelier and chintz draperies your mother decorates homes with so people can feel superior and cultivated.
(Plays a chord.)
We hear this beauty—and we bow our heads before the genius of the music—humbled by our joy.
NICOLE
Do you miss teaching?
JOEL
Sometimes. But with my hearing—the students aren’t there.
NICOLE
But you seem to hear me just fine.
JOEL
At this level, it’s adequate, but when you’re more advanced, I’ll no longer be able to help you--
NICOLE
I don’t know how far I can advance--
JOEL
Of course not. None of us do.
NICOLE
I’ve thought of switching to the violin. I think I may have a better feel for it.
JOEL
At your age? Why bother? Unless it’s just for amusement. You’ve already put so much time in at the piano.
NICOLE
But I just don’t think I can get much better. I don’t even know if I want to be a professional musician anymore. Since I was in the hospital--
JOEL
The hospital is of no importance, only insofar that you make something of your suffering. That is the lesson of so many great artists, yes? Haydn, Beethoven, writing, writing all their lives, out of unimaginable misery.
(A beat)
But if you don’t want to be a musician, don’t. You may not have the constitution for it.
NICOLE
(Stung)
What do you mean?
JOEL
Perhaps your ambition lies elsewhere.
NICOLE
But I thought you felt there was nothing greater than becoming a musician.
JOEL
True. But I can hardly expect you to make the same sacrifices I have. Perhaps you can find something fine for yourself--
NICOLE
What if I turn out like Andrew?
JOEL
I’m getting to the age when I can no longer afford to be disappointed by my children. If he’s content with anonymous mediocrity—actually, for him, mediocrity would be a step up—but, what can one say? Welcome to the human race.
NICOLE
Why do you and Pauline have to be so mean to him?
JOEL
You think we are hard parents. We are. It’s true. I make no apologies for that. A small one, perhaps, because I love you. I’ve known little but struggle all my life. As you know, my father labored as a glove maker all his life—it was only in his late fifties that he knew wealth—which we were fortunate to inherit. He’d always been a poor man so he couldn’t savor his success—only mine. I labored for my art all my life—now with my difficulty . . . But if we seem hard to you, Nicole, it’s because your mother and I knew that to accomplish something in this life would be hard. We’ve tried to prepare you for this—make you aware that just because you grew up in comfort, you should know that to live an excellent life, a successful life—it is not easy—it is hard. Sacrifice and unceasing work. To see you drift in and out of things until you are forty, childless, unmarried, in some unaccomplished position—that is not what we want for you. And the decisions you make now—they make all the difference in the world. I show you what I mean.
(JOEL plays a few bars at the piano.)
This is an early piece by Beethoven—as a young man. You hear the promise, of brilliance perhaps, but listen to its many faults—the uncertain melody, the uninspired left hand—it’s good, but nothing special. Then this--
(Plays an excerpt from the Hamerklavier)
Genius: but only at the expense of a lifetime of labor.
NICOLE
Was he happy?
JOEL
What?
NICOLE
Was he happy?
JOEL
Yes and no. Please spare me this hippy-vegetarian horseshit that Beethoven would have been happier on a commune eating lentils in a shed of recycled manure. Are the peasants of your beloved Guatemala happy living their simple life—of unceasing repetitive labor, untreated childhood diseases that overwhelm them in later life, enslaved to their superstitions of their own and those the Church imposes on them? Are they?
NICOLE
(Conceding)
Yes and no.
(A beat)
You’re an atheist, aren’t you?
JOEL
(Building to a fury)
Atheist? Yes. I’ve played in churches and heard the ministers and priests thank God for the gift of music. I wanted to rise from my seat at the keyboard and shout, “No, you imbeciles! God didn’t give you the gift of music—musicians gave you the voice of God! We gave you your God! So that out of centuries of longing to feel God’s presence—it is artists, musicians, who allowed God to speak to Man!”
(Subduing, bitter)
And far too little credit we have received.
NICOLE
But what if I can be only good at something? What if—if--
(Hesitates before her blasphemy)
What if I only want to be good—not great?
JOEL
Well, then that’s your choice, but your loss. Nicole, who wants to be only good? When you go to the doctor, do you want a pretty good, an okay doctor, or do you want the best? Where would we be if our great scientists only wanted to be “pretty good”—where would penicillin, vaccines come from? Ask someone with AIDS if they want researchers of mediocre ambition acting on their behalf? That’s the world you want to live in? “I’m sorry you’re dying of a wretched illness, but I’m just not that committed to finding a cure.” Where would we be if Galileo—defying the state and the church, had not dared to cry, “We are not at the center of the universe!”?
NICOLE
We’d still be at the center of the universe.
JOEL
I’ve told you I knew Rubenstein.
NICOLE
(Mischievous)
Helena Rubenstein?
JOEL
Arthur Rubenstein. I played for him in a master class--
PAULINE
(Calling from the hallway)
Joel, will you come help me—Nicki, get your father in here, please--
JOEL
(Taking NICOLE’s arm)
Ignore that. Listen, Nicki, I played a Chopin nocturne for Rubenstein that day—both to honor him—and certainly as an act of hubris—and he was respectful and appreciative, and I felt grateful to be in his presence. Then at the end, he sat down at the keyboard and played the piece for me—and--
(His face still flushes red with the memory)
I was filled with shame for my humble achievement—so great to others—I felt like a brave climber ascending above the clouds—who sees the stars for the first time in his life—and now discovers how far he is from real glory.
(A beat, the defiantly)
But I did not stop climbing--
(Slaps the top of the piano, then subdued)
Until my difficulty--
(To NICOLE)
That is all I ask of you: to keep climbing.
(A beat)
But you’ll do as you wish.
[END OF EXCERPT]
***
© Jeffrey Harper. May not be reproduced or transmitted without author's permission.