Lisa Del Rosso dramatic play Those Who We Keep
Those Who We Keep
by Lisa Del Rosso
Characters
Martha Hodges: late 40’s, attractive, successful art dealer, gallery owner. From old Connecticut family
Bradley Hodges: 51, estranged husband of Martha. Also successful marketing whiz. Martha’s college sweetheart. From Connecticut
Nick Mercurio: 35, contractor. Self-made man. Good-looking. Italian. From Queens, NY
Friends of Martha:
Maryann: Late 40’s. Secure, single, filthy, formidable. Favors Chanel and a vintage leopard coat
Holly: Late 40’s. Uptight
Susan: Late 40’s. Likes everything just so, including the classes in their proper places
Firemen:
Chief Leary: Mid-50’s-60’s
Patrick: 30’s
Luis: 20’s, Latino
Dr. Gold: Late 30’s-40, her “uniform” is designer jeans, a white blouse/shirt,
and the best red heels money can buy – disarming manner, which
belies her treatment style: direct, smart, tough
Anonymous comments: These roll on a scrim behind and above the action of any given scene; they are read aloud, often containing typos as they would be posted online, but this “Greek chorus” is not seen.
Extras: Members of the press and townspeople, funeral mourners can also be played by the Firemen and other members of the cast. Nick & Bradley can double as firemen if necessary.
Time: The present.
Place: Should be fluid. Goes from the church on 5th Avenue, NYC, to locations in Greenwich, Connecticut: firehouse, French bistro, office, McLean Psychiatric Hospital, Martha & Bradley’s kitchen, Maryann’s house.
Those Who We Keep
Scene 1
Greenwich, Connecticut Firehouse, New Year’s Eve, a week after the fire. Chief, Patrick, and Luis are stripping down at their lockers, going off shift.
Luis: (muttering to himself but audible to the audience) Happy fuckin’ New Year, Happy fuckin’ New Year…
Patrick: Did you get a load of that shit? In the fucking report?
Chief Leary: Let me tell you something: no working smoke detectors in the house, contractor is a fucking asshole.
Luis: No shit, man. What kind of a fuckin’ contractor is that?
Patrick: What fucking good is he if he can’t even do that?
Luis: Think she knew?
Chief Leary: No.
Patrick: Why?
Chief Leary: She hired him to know, ya know? She’s not supposed to know. That’s what you pay for. And he failed Contracting 101. Don’t fuck the woman you’re working for. Don’t shit where you eat.
Patrick: That’s easier said than done, everybody gets tempted sometime.
Chief Leary: Okay, nobody’s a saint, but if you do fuck the woman you’re working for, don’t get distracted by the pussy.
Luis: Hey, shouldn’t it be the opposite? Like, the pussy should be your incentive to do a better job than you ever done in your whole fuckin’ miserable, scumbag life. Prick.
Patrick: Those poor kids.
Luis: Worst Christmas Eve ever. All I wanted was nice and quiet; maybe Patrick here would make his famous sauce and some damp pasta…
Patrick: al dente, moron, al dente.
Luis: …damp al dente pasta, then we’d all go home, being with our families. What I didn’t want was to… ah… (Pauses, stops, looks down, takes his time) …carry dead little girls out of a burning fucking building. (Pinches his eyes with his fingers) Fuck!
Patrick: And the grandparents.
Chief Leary: And the grandparents.
(Pause)
Luis: Yeah, man, but I feel for her.
Patrick: No shit, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone: rich, poor, anyone.
Chief Leary: Parents and children. Lost it all.
(Pause)
Luis: Think she stays?
Patrick: Who?
Luis: Her. And the contractor.
Patrick: What’re ya saying, man? Speak in complete sentences.
Luis: Don’t fuck with me, I know what I’m sayin’…
Patrick: That makes one of us…
Luis: Do ya think the rich woman stays with the contractor?
Patrick: No fucking way man, it’s his fault her girls are dead. I bet she can’t even look at him anymore.
Chief Leary: Not once she finds out about the smoke alarms.
Luis: What about the husband?
Patrick: What, the ex? He’ll kill them both, I believe.
Chief Leary: Definitely: for stealing his pussy, and once he finds out about the smoke alarms…
Luis: I know I would.
Patrick: Hey, can’t he go to jail?
Chief Leary: You’re damn right he can go to jail; he fucking belongs in jail, the motherfucker.
Patrick: Who’s that up to?
Chief Leary: Her and…the ex. They could have him charged, sue him.
Patrick: Or both!
Luis: Yeah, both, but killing him would be a whole lot easier.
Patrick: Yeah but in jail, he’d get to think about those kids for like, for life.
Chief Leary: Not this debate again…
Patrick: Well, what would you do?
Chief Leary: Me? You talking to me?
Luis: No, he asked me.
Patrick: No probie, I asked the Chief.
Chief Leary: Oh ladies, come on, please…
Luis and Patrick to each other: Shut the fuck up and let the Chief talk!
(Pause)
Chief Leary: You want to know what I’d do? In the ex’s shoes?
Luis: (mispronouncing) Stone him to death. Hung, drawn, quartered. Like medeval times.
Patrick: Your bastardization of the English language offends me, pendejo.
Luis: C’mere and I’ll offend you with my fist, la concha de tu Madre!
Patrick: Answer and hurry up! You always make us wait, Chief.
Chief Leary: Oh, I always make you wait? (He pauses for effect)
Both men collectively grumble...
Chief Leary: This is what I’d do: I’d tie him up, cut his balls off, wrap them in a rag, stuff the bloody thing in his mouth, pour gasoline on him, and set him on fire.
Everyone stops. Pause.
Patrick: It’s… it’s fucking… poetic!
Luis: Yeah… why the fuck didn’t I think of that?
Chief Leary: Because you ain’t the chief, A-hole.
Patrick: Probie A-hole!
Chief Leary: That’s right. Poetic justice. It wouldn’t bring my girls back, but I’d feel a whole lot better.
The Chief puts on his jacket and shuts his locker. All right boys, try to have a Happy New Year.
Luis: And hug your kids close.
Patrick: (shaking his head) The kids, the kids.
The men all murmur, “Yeah,” “yes,” “Amen”…etc…
Scene 2
A church on 5th Avenue in Manhattan. A very public funeral: the church is packed with people from all walks of life: artists, financiers, townspeople (of Greenwich, Connecticut) and the press, with cameras flashing on the periphery. There are five coffins, center back: two adult-sized, and three small white ones. There is a priest at a podium. Martha is in the front pew. Nick is next to her, then a couple of other people, then Bradley. Everyone else is seated. Lights dim on everyone except Martha. She walks to the pulpit. She has a black folder in her hand to read from.
Martha: Thank you for…all of you, for your support. I appreciate you being here and I know Bradley does. I’m here for my three little girls, my three little angels: Jess, Honor, and Rose. For my parents, Homer and Ann. (Pause. She stops reading from the folder)
I’ll tell you about each of them – Jess, Honor, Rose – so you’ll come to know my girls as individuals in their own right, as little people with their own distinctive personalities, which they are. (stumbles) Ah, were. Were…so very different. But all three of them loved art. They all loved to draw. To paint. Especially to paint. I have their paintings, had their paintings, burned now gone. But… they… from…the night of the fire… the time from then to now is just endless and I have all the time in the world to think… To think….about them. Jess, Honor, Rose. My parents, Homer and Ann. Mother and father. Mothers. Daughter. Daughters.
On the scrim behind Martha scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments posted at the end of the New York Post article about this tragedy.
Martha (Cont’d): On Christmas Eve, I was a mother. The mother of three daughters: Jess, Honor, Rose. They called me mama. Mama. They sang before they spoke. Each one of them. Isn’t that funny? When I went to bed on Christmas Eve, I was… a daughter. I called them Mother and Dad. The girls called them Nana and Papa. And now I am… Their names are important, repeating their names, Homer, Ann like a mantra…Jess, Honor, Rose, Mother, Dad. My parents named me Martha. (pause) I don’t know … what that means.
(Brief pause)
Martha: (smiles) Thank you all for coming. My children and parents appreciate your support. (Pause. Tightly wound at breaking point) I don’t know… who… I am…anymore…
Online comments continue aloud:
One: If she had only stayed with her husband.
Two: If only she had been satisfied.
Three: She had everything, everything.
Four: Whore.
Five: Why didn’t she try to save her children?
Six: She did it for the insurance money.
Seven: Sounds fishy that she and the boyfriend got out but no one else did.
Six: Arson.
Five: In saying that, it is also the responsibility of the mother to have had smoke detectors in her home as she has 3 children living there. What kind of mother puts children in danger like that? She should be ashamed of herself.
Four: I would not leave the house without my children.
Five: You poor kids to have a parent like you.
Eight: She should be put in jail for stupidity.
Nine: I don’t know how she could stand up and give a eulogy knowing she was responsible for them being there.
One: You serious? She Klonopined to the eyeballs. That’s how
Ten: She should be put down.
Four: I repeat, I would not leave the house without my children or stop trying to get them even if I died with them.
One: This was her fault.
Scene 3
End of funeral. Everyone files out en masse. Bradley files out a few people ahead of Martha; she hurries to get to him, touches his shoulder; he turns, stops and looks at her.
Martha: Bradley, I… I need to…. talk to you…I need to…about the girls…
Before she finishes, Bradley has turned his back on her and walked away.
Scene 4
The hospital waiting area, immediately after the fire. Martha is sitting on a chair, a blanket around her, in shock. Nick is beside her, also with a blanket around him. Both are blackened from the fire. Bradley walks in quickly.
Nick: (standing up) Bradley, I…
Bradley: (puts his hand on Nick’s chest and pushes him back down) Don’t you fucking talk to me; don’t you fucking say anything. Don’t. Don’t.
Bradley walks past him. Then he doubles back.
Bradley: (to Nick) Do you know how I found out? A knock on the door in the middle of the night. Woke me out of a sound sleep. Two policemen asked if I was Bradley Hodges, handed me a slip of paper, and they said, you need to call this number. I said, what’s wrong? Has something happened? An accident? That’s what I thought it was, some sort of an accident.I called the number and was speaking to a lieutenant. He told me my three children had died in a fire. I went back to bed. I thought it was a horrible dream, a nightmare I’d wake up from. It was Christmas Day, and everything was fine. I was going to spend the day with my children… Instead, I’m here in a fucking hospital and my children, my girls are…Gone. Gone in a blaze.
Nick: I tried to save them. I tried to save all of them, Homer and Ann, too.
Bradley: (coldly, but with acknowledgement) I know.
Nick: So did Martha.
Bradley pauses.
Bradley: I don’t know who that is.
Bradley walks offstage.
Scene 5
Two years previous.
Martha and her friends, Holly, Maryann, and Susan at a upscale French bistro in Greenwich, CT, having coffee, lunch, drinks. They are dressed casually, which for them means casual Prada and Chanel. Laughter and chatter as the scene begins.
Holly: How’s that terrible house you bought?
Martha: It is not a terrible house; it’s a terrible Victorian mansion. And I wish you’d stop saying that.
Susan: Wonderful view.
Martha: There, you see? It has a wonderful view.
Maryann: Unlivable.
Martha: Maryann!
Maryann: Mansion is a project.
Holly: It is. It’s a project, Martha.
Susan: When it’s finished, it will be beautiful.
Martha: I did need a project and the girls love it. They want to paint their rooms fuchsia and purple and I have a mind to let them. I do.
Holly: Their eventual rooms. Right now their rooms are invisible. You can’t paint the invisible.
Susan: Oh, stop it Holly.
Martha: (with meaning) Thank you Susan, for always erring on the positive – such a necessary quality in a friend.
Holly: I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It is a beautiful property. Such a lot of work, though.
Maryann: That is why one hires, dear. To do the work one cannot do.
Martha: Exactly. And it’s coming along quickly, which is great… I can’t wait until we can move in.
Holly: Has Bradley seen it?
Martha: No, but he knows the property. It’s quite old, so I suppose anyone with roots in the city/town knows the place.
Maryann: Not that he has any say in the matter, one way or another.
Susan: I look forward to exquisite summer parties, overlooking the sea.
All: Absolutely. Cheers. (They clink cups and glasses)
Martha: (casually) I’m…uh…seeing someone.
(Brief pause)
Holly: Really?
Carol: Who?
Maryann: Not surprised.
Holly: Who is he?
Susan: How did you meet him? How do you meet anyone, these days?
Holly: Online. It had to be online.
Martha: Actually, he’s my contractor.
(Brief pause)
Holly: Your contractor?
Susan: You mean Nick?
Maryann: Hot.
Martha: Yes. Nick.
Holly: That is so very Connecticut. You know, the golf pro, the personal trainer…
Susan: Very Lady Chatterley’s Lover…
Martha: Oh, please!
Maryann: Wait. Have you seen him? Hot! And younger. Not that that matters.
Holly: How long?
Martha: A… number of months.
Holly: Well. I think that’s great.
Susan: Very…progressive.
Maryann: Hot. You see? This is why one hires by referral only.
Martha: Not exactly.
Holly: A number of months…
Martha: Yes.
Susan: So…
Maryann: It’s more…
Martha: He’s meeting my parents at the weekend. Officially.
(Pause)
Holly: Christ, fuck him, don’t buy him.
Martha: You see why I was hesitant to tell you.
Susan: He is certainly… a departure.
Martha: A departure… care to elaborate, Susan?
Susan: From Bradley, dear.
Martha rolls her eyes.
Holly: But as a significant other?
Susan: I suppose… as a fling… why not?
Martha: Yes, why not?
Maryann: Is she supposed to be alone for the rest of her life?
Holly: No, not at all. But perhaps she could have chosen a man who was not her employee.
Maryann: Why don’t you refer to him as the help, and go back to the 1950’s?
Holly: In a way, he is the help!
Maryann: Oh really. In that case, he can come to my house and help anytime.
Susan: I think we are getting off-topic…
Maryann: (to Martha) I will rise to your defense when the chatter starts.
Martha: Good of you. But I expect chatter, and refuse to let it bother me. Easily ignored.
Maryann: Money is a good insulator.
Holly: And the girls?
Susan: Money can insulate them as well.
Susan: Has Nick met the girls?
Martha: This weekend.
Holly raises an eyebrow and looks at Susan, Maryann gives them both the stink eye, while Martha sips her coffee.
Holly: And Bradley?
Martha: He’s not entirely thrilled. But… he does want me to be happy.
Holly: Obviously, the most important thing.
Maryann: (to Holly) Obviously, she should have chosen someone she would be unhappy with.
Martha: I only hope that eventually, when you meet him, you can summon up some pretense of civility. I’d hate to think my choice of partner would ruin our cradle-to-grave friendship…
Holly and Susan: (talking over each other) Oh, no no – of course, of course we will be supportive! Don’t be silly, it’s just we were a bit shocked, and the fact that you have actually have gotten to know him…and it’s so progressive of you… (etc.)
Maryann and Martha look at each other, sip their coffees, grin.
Scene 6
Bradley and Martha in their kitchen, six months prior
Bradley: What can I do?
Martha: Nothing. We’ve had a great partnership, haven’t we?
Bradley: Of course. Of course we have. The girls being our greatest accomplishment.
Martha: (smiling) The best thing we ever did together, deciding to have the children.
Bradley says nothing, then…
Bradley: I realize that people grow apart. I just didn’t think…
Martha: Didn’t think?
Bradley: That it would be…
Martha and Bradley: (both at the same time)
Martha: Us.
Bradley: You.
(Pause)
Martha: Our needs changed. Over time.
Bradley: More than anything else, we have always been… a great team. I admire you. Respect you.
Martha: (fumbling) Yes. Yes… we were successful… at almost everything…always one more… accomplishment. And now I feel a… sense of loss, with all of that accomplishment.
Bradley: I don’t understand.
Martha: I’m not sure I can explain it. Maybe it’s what women expect of ourselves.
Bradley: Which is what?
Martha: Perfection.
Bradley: Martha. You are extraordinary.
Martha: And failing at perfection every damn day.
Bradley: You have never failed at anything in your entire life!
Martha: This is the first time in my life that I’ve stopped to take a breath. I’ve finally acknowledged that I have needs. That I am allowed to have needs.
Bradley says nothing for a time.
Bradley: You know that once I get going, I would do anything to please you.
Martha: Yes. It took me a long time to understand, but I do. I do now.
Bradley: Maybe that’s been to my detriment.
Martha says nothing.
Bradley: But… I couldn’t have changed it. That’s who I am. And I wouldn’t have loved you any differently.
Martha: I know.
Scene 7
Martha and her friends, back at the French bistro in Greenwich, CT
Martha: What I’m trying to say is, I think women are harder to make happy in the long run. They are! Give men food, sex, alcohol, a woman, and he’s set for 30 or 40 years. Routine. Creature comforts. Women need more stimulation, and we need friends. After a man is widowed, it’s likely that he’ll marry within the year. A woman widowed behaves as if she has just been suddenly paroled. Men have to have someone.
Holly: So, men are essentially children.
Susan: No, she’s saying men can’t be alone. Straight men.
Maryann: Same thing.
Holly: Did you even like your husband?
Susan: Bradley is such a good man… a good father…
Maryann: Yes, but can he still thwack in the sack?
Susan: Maryann!
Maryann: Well, isn’t that what we’re talking about? Martha, aren’t you unhappy in the boudoir? Isn’t that the reason for the separation?
Martha: I need a change, Maryann. A change. New house. New view. New routine, for me and my girls.
Maryann: New man.
Martha: Not the reason.
Maryann: We’ll see.
Holly: (to Maryann) Can we get off your clitoris and back to men, please?
Maryann: Funny, I thought the two were connected.
Holly: (to Martha) Twenty-five years is a long time, almost as long as Jack and me.
Martha: Yes, twenty-five years is a long time.
Susan: I think you’re right about women needing more to make them happy. I’m the social planner of the family. If I didn’t organize dinner parties, outside events, vacations and such, we wouldn’t see anyone or go anywhere. Mostly, Ben works. A lot. I don’t see him all that often and think, where’s my husband? The thing is, Ben has a great time at our parties: he laughs, enjoys himself, enjoys people, enjoys me. He appreciates it, no doubt. He thanks me afterwards, as we clean up, and tells me what a great night it was, and what a good time he had. Priorities, maybe. Or playing to our strengths. Or maybe, men are just lazy… fucks.
Maryann: Ohhhh! That was a well-placed fuck. Well done. Well done.
Holly: Almost a poignant story!
Maryann: But she has something there.
Holly: Other than man-bashing?
Martha: That is her experience with her husband, who she met in college, who we all know from college, and their relationship has evolved.
Maryann: Devolved.
Martha: Stop.
Susan: I’m not sure Ben has any friends, other than the ones he works with. I never see them, or hear about them. But I actually need to spend time with my friends. Rely on them, for reasons of sanity and such.
All the women say “yes” “absolutely,” “agreed,” etc…
Holly: My stepfather Max is like that. My mother has loads of female friends in their retirement community in Palm Beach. She goes on walks with them, shops, pool aerobics, lunches. She is…independent within her marriage, as it were. Max is quite content with only her company. I firmly believe that Max must die before she does, because he’ll be lost without her.
Maryann: Yes, please do arrange that.
Susan: That’s a bit sad, isn’t it?
Martha: But I don’t think it is uncommon.
Susan: On that note, I am off for tennis lessons with the tennis pro I am not screwing.
Maryann: Not screwing yet?
Susan: Not screwing ever. Not on my team.
Maryann: That’s a damn shame.
Holly: Could you give me a lift?
Susan: Of course.
Kisses, hugs, and goodbyes are exchanged. Susan and Holly exit.
(Pause)
Maryann: Alright sister, spill it.
Martha: (feigning innocence) What do you mean?
Maryann: Martha. We were both raised here in Greenwich. We drank together, smoked together, got high together, got our periods, lost our virginity, missed periods then panicked together, stood naked in changing rooms choosing which bras made our tits look AMAZING. Don’t. Lie. To. Me.
Martha: (with a sigh) What do you want to know?
Maryann: The reason.
Martha: (pause) I’m… not happy.
Maryann: (patiently) Yes, I know that.
Martha: Mnnnnn… Lack of intimacy has been an ongoing problem.
Maryann: I knew it! I knew this was clitoris-driven!
Martha: Oh my god…
Maryann: Levity! Levity! Continue.
Martha: When you’re growing up, you make lists, attributes you want in a husband: good-looking, religious persuasion, children, educational level, socioeconomic status. But sex never makes that list. It’s a biological need so you would think someone, somewhere along the line would tell you that a must on that list is sexual compatibility- and, that it is hugely important. It’s just bizarre, when half the marriages in the US fail, how little this is discussed.
Maryann: There are relationship books. Questions you ask one another before you get married. Jonathan and I went through them all, asked each other. The sex question is in there.
Martha: It is?
Maryann: Yes. How often would you like to be having sex/how often do you see yourself having sex? I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but something to that effect.
Martha: And you said?
Maryann: Three or four times a week.
Martha: And Jonathan said?
Maryann: He had the same inclination – three or four or more times a week. We were good together in that way.
Martha: Right. Great. Except…
Maryann: Except Jonathan had that inclination toward anything in yoga pants – which these days is most women between 18 to 70.
Martha: (sighs) I am sorry. He seemed so perfect. Charming. Mannered.
Maryann: And overly-generous with his cock.
Martha reaches over and takes Maryann’s hand.
Maryann: (brusquely) It was a long time ago. You can never tell about a marriage from the outside, from the facade. You and Bradley: case in point.
Martha: (ruefully) Can I tell you something?
Maryann: Always.
Martha: (pause) I was the only one initiating, which in the end made me feel not wanted…so I stopped. And I waited. For months.
Maryann: Months?
Martha: A year, actually. It took almost a year. I’d have stood more of a chance if I had been a grilled cheese sandwich.
Maryann: A year?
Martha: A year.
Maryann: I admire you for many… you were the one who had it: beauty, brains, career, great husband, great children, money… but if you waited an entire year for your husband to make a pass at you, I swear, and I mean this literally, not the way “the youth” say it today: You should have fucked around and found out.
Martha: Oh, Maryann!
Maryann: I am so, so serious. You should have fucked around, found out…
Martha: (overlapping dialogue) You know I would never…
Maryann: (overlapping) Because, though I do believe in the sanctity of marriage in theory…
Martha: (overlapping) …break those vows said in front of family and friends…
Maryann: (overlapping) … in practice that kind of willful neglect only atrophies one’s vagina and…
Martha: (overlapping and laughing) ‘Til death do us part, forever and ever…
Maryann: (overlapping) …is a colossal waste of time. Your time. Vagina time. Time alive on this earth time.
Martha: (overlapping) Amen.
Scene 8
An office at the Bureau of Fire Investigation. Martha is sitting at a desk, across from the Chief Leary.
Martha: (rigid) I don’t mean to be impolite, but why am I here? I know the origin of the fire. I know it wasn’t arson. I was there.
Chief Leary: Yes, well, Ms. Hodges, there are a few other matters to clear up before I can close this investigation.
Martha: Please call me Martha. What other matters?
Chief Leary: The smoke detectors.
Martha: I had them installed.
Chief Leary: How many?
Martha: One in every room except the bathrooms.
Chief Leary: Who installed them?
Martha: The contractor.
Chief Leary: Name?
Martha: (with a slight hesitation) Nick Mercurio.
Chief Leary: I know this isn’t easy…
Martha: (snaps at him) Have you lost a child? Have you lost two? Three?
Chief Leary: No, Martha, I have not.
Martha: Then you have no idea how not easy this is.
Chief Leary: Martha, I have to ask these questions… about the house.
Martha: Mansion.
Chief Leary: Excuse me?
Martha: It’s a Victorian mansion, built in 1895.
The Chief looks at her.
Martha shrugs.
Martha: Ask. Please ask.
Chief Leary: The night of the fire…
Martha: Oh my god!
Chief Leary: The night of the fire, do you remember hearing any alarms go off?
Martha jolts upright.
Martha: Fire alarm?
Chief Leary: Yes.
Martha: (thinking back) No… no…
Chief Leary: No?
Martha: That’s… that’s so…odd that I can’t remember hearing…I remember everything about that night. Every single horrific detail.
Chief Leary: Martha. You didn’t hear an alarm because there wasn’t one. The system wasn’t connected.
Martha: I… don’t understand.
Chief Leary: The fire alarm system was installed, but it had not been connected.
Martha: But… what about the smoke detectors?
Chief Leary: Did you hear any of those go off?
Martha: No…
Chief Leary: We tested them, the ones we could find. No batteries. Nick Mercurio should have checked the fire alarm system once it was installed and made sure the smoke detectors were active and working before you were allowed to move into the premises. Nick Mercurio also did some of the renovations in your house… mansion… with no permits.
Martha: No permits…
Chief Leary: Right. Permits take time. The client waits longer for the contractor to finish the job.
Martha: I…wanted to move in as soon as possible, but… not, no…that… that means what the contractor was doing was …illegal?
Chief Leary: (at the same time Martha says “illegal”) Negligent.
(Pause)
Chief Leary: No fire alarm system, no smoke detection system. Built in 1895. Went up like a torch.
Martha: (reeling) But… but I had changed the building permit to include plans for both…
Chief Leary: Yes, we found the permit.
Martha: … and Nick, I mean the contractor, assured me…
Chief Leary says nothing
Martha: Do you mean…are you saying…
Chief Leary: I am telling you the conclusions of the Fire Bureau of Investigations.
Martha: (light finally dawning) …that my children could have been saved. And my parents. If we had heard the alarms. If there had been alarms. There would have been more time…Isn’t that right? The alarms would have bought me more time? Chief?
Chief Leary: Martha…
Martha: …instead of waking up inside an inferno.
The Chief is silent.
Martha: We had the most beautiful party on Christmas Eve. The meal was catered, all organic foods. There was a vanilla cake with colored sprinkles for the girls baked by my mother, because vanilla is their favorite. They ate too much candy, because it was Christmas — usually they’re not allowed to have candy, because I don’t want children with rotten teeth… Rose and Honor were wearing their fairy costumes with the glittery wings, but Jess wanted to be a grown-up and chose her favorite red velvet dress with the matching red velvet headband. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree was done up with white lights and white ribbons. My parents dressed up as Santa and Mrs. Claus and handed out presents. We all had champagne, probably too much champagne… and everyone was so happy.
Do you know what does not matter? All those years I worried about my children eating organic food. About them getting into the ‘right schools.’ None of that matters. Do you know what does matter? The night I was working to deadline and missed putting the three of them to bed. The time I was traveling and missed Jess’s recital. Time matters, Chief. Time I wasted. Because three hours after we all went to bed on Christmas Eve, my entire family was dead.
Chief Leary: Martha. I am so sorry…
Martha: You were there that night. You and your men. You did everything you could to save them. I want to thank you for that. All of you.
Chief Leary: I appreciate that. I’m sure the men will, too.
Martha: Three of your men pulled me down off the ladder that was still leaning on the side of my unfinished mansion, they held me back. I think about that, I think about it all the time. I dream it. I wake to it. It’s a nightmare that trails me everywhere I go, and does not care when the sun rises. Because that was the only mistake your men made. The only one. Your men should have let me burn with them. At least we’d all be together. At least I wouldn’t be the only one left.
Chief Leary: (pauses, clears throat) There’s a reason you survived.
Martha: Oh, really? And what would that be?
Chief Leary: I don’t know, Martha. I don’t know. I only know you got to find it.
Martha is silent. She gets up to leave. Exits out of the door. The Chief sighs, makes the sign of the cross, takes a Jameson bottle and a shot glass out of a side drawer.
Chief Leary: Fuck. I shoulda offered her a whiskey.
Downs the shot in one.
Martha leaves the municipal building, and as she walks, the scrim behind her scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: If you only…
Two: If you only…
Three: If you only…
Four: Whore.
Five: If you only…
Six: If you only…
Seven: If you only…
Six: If you only…
Five: If you only…
Four: If you only…
Five: If you only…
Eight: If you only…
Nine: If you only…
Ten: If you only…
Four: If you only…
One: …hadn’t fucked him.
Scene 9
The French Bistro, immediately after. Maryann enters. She sees Holly and Susan, greets them, sits down, motions to the waiter who brings her a coffee. Martha walks in wearing a jacket with long sleeves. They all stop talking at the same time.
Maryann: Hi hon!
Maryann gets up to hug Martha, who has just come from the firehouse.
Maryann: (all smiles) Aren’t you going to greet one of your oldest friends, ladies?
Susan and Holly are silent
Susan: Oh. So you knew…
Maryann: That she was coming? You bet I did.
Martha: I’m…sorry. I should go.
Maryann: No. Don’t you dare go.
Susan: We should be going.
Maryann: Oh really? You haven’t even finished your small but ridiculously expensive coffees.
Holly: We are uncomfortable, actually.
Maryann: And why is that?
Susan: Under the circumstances, we…
Maryann: Do you always speak on each other’s behalves? Do you have one brain, so that ‘we’ is the pronoun of choice?
Holly and Susan together: Yes. When it comes to this.
Maryann: When it comes to this?
Holly and Susan together: When it comes to her.
Maryann: Oh, I see. When you were cheating on your husband and you needed a shoulder cry on, who did you talk to?
Susan: That’s different.
Maryann: How so?
Holly: No one died.
Maryann: (pauses, then slowly) It must be nice to be sitting high up on that mountaintop, looking all the way down at us sinners.
Holly and Susan look at each other, get up, gather their things, find cash for the bill, etc… and make their way to the door.
Holly: (angrily, to Martha and anyone within earshot) None of this would have happened if you had not left Bradley, if you hadn’t fucked that….
Martha gets up and speed walks to the bathroom
Maryann: (livid) You sanctimonious bitch, get the fuck out of here. No one wants to hear this. No one. No one wants your 2 cents judgment call. No one.
Holly: Fine. She knows what she did.
Maryann: Save it for your online bullying, psycho.
Holly and Susan exit
Maryann sits back down. Martha enters, sits next to Maryann, her arms crossed in front of her
Martha: (clearly unwell) Maryann? There’s no place for me here anymore.
Maryann: Fuck those deserters. Here’s your coffee. I think we may need a real drink. Fuck the coffee.
Martha: (despondent) I hear them, Maryann. I hear my girls. They’re in the walls, calling to me – Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. But I can’t find them. I don’t know where they are. They don’t know where they are. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.
(Pauses)
I don’t mean here. I mean here. On earth.
Maryann: Martha…
Martha: Razor blades are the easiest. I carry them in my handbag just in case. Look. Dorothy Parker was wrong! They don’t pain you. It’s okay. It really is.
Martha brings up one of her arms, blood dripping from end of the sleeve cuff
Maryann: (Stops drinking her coffee, puts her cup on the table, very calm. Gets hold of napkins and applies them to Martha’s wrist) I’m surprised.… you’ve held it together for this long. Let’s take a drive, shall we hon?
Martha: Where to?
Maryann: One of my favorite places to visit. Here, I need you to hold this. (Martha takes the napkins and keeps pressing to her wrist)
Martha: Is it beautiful?
Maryann: Yes. Let’s go.
Maryann pays and they exit
The scrim scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: Do it
Two: She should do it
Three: Nothing gonna help her… now
Four: Doesn’t deserve to live
Five: Do it
Six: She let her children burn. Should’ve killed herself long ago…
Seven: Like Nike says…
Six: Boo hoo not sorry
Five: Boo hoo no sympathy
Four: If it had a been my children…
Five: Do it
Eight: Let the punishment fit the crime!
Nine: Nothin to live for anyway
Ten: Just kill yourself, bitch
Four: I’d a died long ago
All voices all at once: DO IT DO IT DO IT
Scene 10
Greenwich, Connecticut Firehouse. Chief Leary is in his office, trying to make sense of the computer.
Chief Leary: (tapping) I fucking hate technology… I fucking hate typing… I need new fucking glasses…
Luis knocks, enters
Luis: Can I come in?
Chief Leary: You’re already in.
Luis: Oh. Yeah. Can I talk to you?
Chief Leary: Yes. I’m getting nowhere with this shit, so yes. Take a load off.
Luis sits down
Luis: I uh… Chief. I think I need to leave.
Chief Leary: To leave? Why? Oh, Patrick? He still givin’ you probie crap? I’ll slap the shit right out of his mouth!
Luis: No no, not Patrick. I can take of that little bitch. (Pause) It’s me. I need a leave.
Chief Leary: Oh… a leave.
Chief Leary is silent
Luis: You know my wife’s pregnant.
Chief Leary: Yes, due in three months or so.
Luis: Christmas Eve…
Chief Leary: I know…
Luis: You don’t know. We don’t talk about that shit so how can you know?
Chief Leary: You don’t think it bothers the rest of the men? Or me? You don’t think I haven’t been in your shoes? You’ve only been here a little over a year.
Luis: Doesn’t mean I don’t feel nuthin’. All that trash talk. Still feel ya know.
Chief Leary: Do you tell your wife about your day?
Luis: Some. Like, I try to find the funny shit to tell her.
Chief Leary: Did you tell her about Christmas Eve?
Luis: No way.
Chief Leary: Why?
Luis: I don’t want her to see what I see. In her head. Don’t want to upset her.
Chief Leary: That’s right. Talking shit with each other’s funny, right? We have trash mouths. That’s okay. The banter bullshit is relief from carrying what we see that our families won’t. It’s like old school WW II vets, who came back and married, raised kids, held down jobs – and never talked about what they did or what they saw. Same thing, because otherwise, we’d be fuckin’ basket cases. And I can’t have that because then we couldn’t do our jobs. We couldn’t run into buildings and save people, because that’s the job. To save people. (slight pause) Unfortunately, part of the job is also carrying out the dead. Even on Christmas Eve.
Luis: Okay. Okay, I get it…but…still
Chief Leary: There’s an organization I belong to, Friends of Firefighters, that provides free counseling, mental health support. I can put you in touch with them. And, I can arrange the leave if you want it.
Luis: Appreciate that, Chief. You’re okay for a gringo. Let me think…
Patrick knocks, enters
Patrick: Chief?
Chief Leary: What the fuck do you want?
Patrick: (to Luis) What the fuck are you doing here?
Luis: What the fuck business is it of yours?
Patrick: Hey douchebag, if you’re complaining about me, it is my business.
Chief Leary: He is not complaining…
Luis: Chill, lápiz polla! (to Chief) This is what I mean…
Patrick: Chief, I need to talk…
Chief Leary: Out. Right now. I’d rather spend time with the fucking computer – and I hate the fucking computer. Out! Everybody out!
Scene 11
Interior of Mclean Psychiatric Hospital. A well-appointed room, with two cozy chairs, Martha in one of them. She is in a bathrobe and her wrist is bandaged. Dr. Gold, a woman in clothes that are not entirely professional, makes an entrance.
Dr. Gold: Hi Martha.
Martha: (standing) Hi… um…
Dr. Gold: Dr. Gold
Martha: Oh…?
Dr. Gold: Oh yes, my attire. Nothing worse than a suit. I don’t know how people do it every day. “Professional dress.” Stiffs in suits.
Martha: Um…
Dr. Gold: There’s something called “flannel Fridays” here in Massachusetts. I had never heard of such a thing. Never wanted to, actually. Hate flannel.
Martha: Dr. Gold, I…
Dr. Gold: One can wear jeans, heels and a white shirt on a night out and that outfit can cost the same as a couture dress! Or close to it.
Martha: (Irritated) Dr. Gold!
Dr. Gold: (sitting down) I apologize. I am… sartorially obsessed. (Zeroes in on Martha, thinking) You have been here for two weeks… on suicide watch…the circumstances of the fire…yes… (pause) I understand you have finally acquiesced to the meds for sleep… and now you feel?
At first, Martha says nothing. Dr. Gold waits. Then…
Martha: How the hell do you think I feel?
Dr. Gold: No, Martha, that is not how this works.
Martha: Bereft! Angry! Guilty!
Dr. Gold: Explain guilty.
Martha: Guilty that I could not save my children and my parents.
Dr. Gold: You know, logically, that it was impossible, physically impossible, for you to save them.
Martha: I wish I had burned with them!
Dr. Gold: Go on.
Martha: Guilty that I had a relationship with Nick. Guilty that I thought I could move on after my husband.
Dr. Gold: No. That’s not guilt. That is regret.
Martha: Regret?
Dr. Gold: Do you regret having a relationship with Nick?
Martha: I… I don’t… know.
Dr. Gold: What would there be to regret?
Martha: So much of it was so good!
Dr. Gold: What about the relationship was not good?
Martha: Nothing.
Dr. Gold: Nothing?
Martha: Nothing. Until the fire.
Dr. Gold: Explain that.
Martha: I found out that he lied to me… or not lied. He… The fire alarm, smoke detectors he installed were not working. That was his job. If that… if I had heard the alarms…there would have been time, more time, to save the children, my parents…
Dr. Gold: So that was a betrayal.
Martha: Yes! Yes. Personally and professionally. I trusted him. He was supposed to do his job… and keep us safe.
Dr. Gold: The fact that he did not do his job has nothing to do with regret; you don’t regret the relationship.
Martha: No. I suppose I don’t. But I do hate him now, because what he did not do cost me my family.
Dr. Gold: You mentioned your husband.
Martha: Yes.
Dr. Gold: Do you regret separating?
Martha: No.
Dr. Gold: Why.
Martha: We had become more like business partners, while still parenting the children. I wanted… intimacy. A connection.
Dr. Gold: And sex?
Martha: And sex.
Dr. Gold: You’re pretty clear on what you don’t regret. That’s good. But survivor’s guilt…
Martha: Survivor’s guilt?
The scrim scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments, complete with typos.
One: Seen her? Nothing on Martha Watch
Two: Heard the cunt died
Three: Made a big scene in town
Four: Not dead
Five: Big boo hoo scene cut up & everything
Six: Read she’s in a nuthouse
Seven: Too bad she not dead
Six: Should be killed
Five: Rape her then kill her
Four: If they were my children…
Five: Can’t show her face here again
Eight: Rich people get lawyers and get off
Nine: Nuthouse shit – no punishment at all
Ten: She’ll get away with murder
Four: Think she’ll come back? Think she will?
One: She better not or she see what happens to child murderers
Scene 12
A few weeks later, in session with Dr. Gold
Martha: I am the mother; it was my responsibility to keep my children safe. And I didn’t. I didn’t keep my children safe. I failed at being a mother. I failed at being a daughter. I failed at being a wife, a lover, a moral person. I failed all of them.
Dr. Gold: Tell me about your mother.
Martha: My mother?
Dr. Gold: Yes.
Martha: There’s no comparison. She was perfect.
Dr. Gold: Was she?
Martha: You didn’t know her. She was… a happy person.
Dr. Gold: Happy and perfect are two different things.
Martha: She was both.
Dr. Gold: Therefore, you are also supposed to be perfect.
Martha: What?
Dr. Gold: You used the word “comparison” but that is not what I asked. You had a thriving career, three children to raise, a husband. You are an only child, yes? And your mother’s career… was you.
(Pause)
Martha: I suppose.
Dr. Gold: Perfect is a loaded word because in human terms, it does not exist. La Boheme – that is perfect. Rachmaninov piano concerto number 2 opus 18– perfection. But once you begin applying it to yourself as the standard, you lose.
Martha: Society expects mothers to be perfect.
Dr.Gold: Go on.
Martha: I’ve read every vile, disgusting comment about me, about my life, about my decisions – that’s out there. All of them. I searched for them, like a form of punishment.
Dr.Gold: That is not something I recommend.
Martha: But it was so incredibly one-sided, I began to think…
If I were a man, if I were the father, would I be blamed, shunned, threatened? Or would there be an outpouring of sympathy? Is it because I am the mother – I was the mother – and the expectations on a mother are INCREDIBLE! No wonder we drink! God forbid you try to have a career and be a mother at the same time. God forbid you are a sexual woman AND a mother. God forbid you don’t bake the brownies yourself or do not show up for parent/teacher conferences. No one expects these things of fathers! No one. Biology is… such a bitch.
Dr. Gold: You’ve got something there, Martha. Then why do you expect perfection from yourself?
Martha: I don’t know. Easier to blame myself.
Dr. Gold: And if you stopped blaming yourself? Then what?
Martha: I don’t know.
Dr. Gold: If you stopped blaming yourself, there is space left for something else. Something… positive.
Martha: Like what?
Dr. Gold: I think you know. But you have to put aside blame in order to find it.
The scrim behind Martha scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: If she had only stayed with her husband.
Two: If she had only been satisfied.
Three: She had everything, everything.
Four: Whore.
Five: Why didn’t she try to save her children?
Six: She did it for the insurance money.
Seven: Sounds fishy that she and the boyfriend got out but no one else did.
Six: Arson.
Five: It was the responsibility of the mother (the Art Dealer) to have smoke detectors as she had 3 children living there. What kind of mother puts children in danger like that? She should be ashamed of herself.
Four: I would not leave the house without my children.
Five: Poor kids to have a parent like her.
Eight: She should be put in jail for stupidity.
Nine: She should be put down.
Ten: This was her fault.
Scene 13
A few weeks later, in session with Dr. Gold
Martha: Regular sleep does help. But I don’t know if I deserve to feel better.
Dr. Gold: What are your choices?
Martha: Not feel better. Stay here… indefinitely. Die.
Dr. Gold: How does that help your girls?
Martha: It doesn’t.
Dr. Gold: What do you think can help?
(Pause)
Martha: My mother. My mother could have helped. I know that’s a who not a what…
Dr. Gold: Tell me more about your mother.
(Pause)
Martha: My mother had the capacity to make everything better, even when it wasn’t.
Dr Gold waits
Martha: I miss her.
Dr Gold waits
Martha: My father… was a managing director of a financial services firm, while my mother was home with me. Yes, you were right: my mother’s career was me. I am grateful they were able to do that. I do remember him vaguely from when I was very little… but I got to know him better later on in life, when he had more time. He was very kind. Adored the girls.
Dr. Gold: To be able to make everything better is a remarkable gift. Of course you miss your mother.
Martha nods
Dr. Gold: You said she could have helped. How?
Martha: My mother told me…
Dr. Gold: Told you?
Martha: Told me not to.
Dr. Gold: Told you not to what?
Martha: So many things…that I ignored. Did not listen to her.
Dr. Gold waits
Martha: My mother… my mother told me I sang before I spoke. Isn’t that funny?
Dr. Gold: I think it’s lovely.
Martha: Lovely. She loved me. Very much.
Dr. Gold says nothing
Martha: I miss her. I… killed her.
Dr. Gold: How could she have helped you now?
Martha closes her eyes
Martha: (not quickly) She would say… to me…she would say… Martha, you love the sun on your face you are happy to wake up in the morning because it is a gift to wake up in the morning; you love feeding Cardinals in the yard with your father because he told you to stay very still and they would eat seed out of your hand; you love swimming so much like a fish that I could not get you out of the water unless I came in and scooped you up, shivering and blue-lipped; in the hospital holding Jess after her birth and the way you looked at her, like a miracle had taken place; this is who you are and so much more – why do you forget it all, why do you forget that I taught you it all goes so fast, that you never know, that what you do matters, that your friends and family matter, what you give matters, and in taking your life… in taking your life…
Dr Gold waits
Martha opens her eyes
Martha: …it’s like none of it ever happened, like none of it mattered because you stopped remembering all the good. All the love. All I gave you. Martha breaks down
The scrim scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: Don’t think she’s coming back
Two: Heard it was him
Three: His fucking fault
Four: fucking scum
Two: He was negligent is what I heard
Six: How’d you know
Two: Nothing worked: no smoke alarms no fire alarms
Six: Bitch was fuckin him so what
Five: She paid for alarms tho
Two: She paid for alarms, they didn’t work
Five: Permit’s public, there’s a public record way to find this shit out
Eight: Who’s this guy? Name?
Nine: Nick Mercurio – contractor
Ten: Can’t be check your facts son
Six: Her kids, her cunt, her fault
One: Both I blame them both
Scene 14
A couple of months later, in session with Dr. Gold
Dr. Gold: Tell me about the night of the fire.
Martha: (taken aback) Don’t you.. don’t you know? Don’t I have a file you would have read or something?
Dr. Gold: Yes, I have. I want to hear what happened from you.
Martha takes a deep breath and closes her eyes
Fade to black
The following can be achieved with a simple lighting change, a couch rolled out, and Martha wearing a dress under her robe for a quick change. The Christmas Eve/Martha’s sitting room set does not have to be elaborate.
Christmas Eve, after the party. Martha and Nick are on the sofa, with Martha straddling him, passionately kissing. Martha sports a bow on her head.
Martha: (stops kissing Nick) Such fun!
Nick: It is. Don’t stop.
Martha: (kisses Nick deeply then stops) Did you enjoy yourself at the party?
Nick: What do you think? (Nick takes Martha’s hand and brings it to the crotch of his pants, rubbing it slowly up and down) I think my enjoyment is pretty obvious.
Martha: (laughing) No! I mean, yes. YES, yes of course. (They kiss, clearly enjoying each other) I meant, my parents, the children…
Nick: Oh! Right. (adjusts himself, gets up, walks around with a drink as he talks) Your parents. Old New England. Proper – but nice. Didn’t blink an eye when introduced to me. But you prepped them, right?
Martha: Of course. They have no problem with you. With us.
Nick: (Slight pause) That you’re dating the handyman?
Martha: The handyman! I’m in a relationship with the man who renovated my ramshackle mansion! That would be you, Nick, and your own company. That would be you, Nick, who I adore.
Nick comes to the sofa, kneels in front of Martha, spreads her legs and hugs her with his whole upper body
Nick: Thank you for saying that, Martha. Because I can’t get enough of you. (They kiss)
Nick: The girls are… the girls are crazy! Creative. Energetic. All over the place! Three of them. How did you do it?
Martha: I had help, for a start. I took a short maternity leave after Jess and then a longer one after the twins, but I was able to go right back to work. But three is never easy.
Nick: Help? You mean your parents?
Martha: No, I mean my parents provided us with a baby nurse who lived in for about nine months.
Nick: (pause) Wow.
Martha: (pause) I do realize it is not the norm. I do realize how incredibly fortunate I am, but do understand I had a head start… which my parents never let me forget.
Nick: Yeah well, parents. It’s their job to remind us that we owe them everything.
Martha: Absolutely 100% correct!
Both laugh
Nick: Want to kill off the last of the champagne?
Martha: Sure. Getting a bit sleepy though. What time is it?
Nick pours two glasses, hands one to Martha
Nick: I am curious – do you and your family always have parties like tonight’s?
Martha: Parties where my father dresses up as Santa Claus, my mother dresses up like Mrs. Claus and my children are deliriously happy? The first part: only on Christmas Eve, the second: as often as possible.
Nick: It was really something.
Martha: It was. I hope there will be many many more to come in this house, thanks to you.
Nick: (embracing Martha) I hope I’m here to spend them with you.
Martha: I think that’s on the cards.
Nick: You think so?
Martha: I absolutely, 100% do.
Nick: (looking at her) Hmmnnn… I think you’ve had too much to drink…
Martha: It’s Christmas!
Nick: Yes, it is Christmas.
Martha: And the girls are all asleep! I’ve stopped being jealous over my mother putting them to bed instead of me. Although, they ingested so many sweets I’m surprised they went down at all. Never mind: if they wake up, they’ll go to Nana and Papa’s room across the hall first, not mine. They would have to travel down two flights of stairs to get to me. The perils of a large house.
Nick: Yes, it is Christmas and the girls are asleep. But I do think all good children should go to bed. That includes us.
They kiss
Martha: I think I should open my Christmas present right now. Clean up can wait till morning.
Martha runs her hands down Nick’s chest and goes for his belt, but has a bit of trouble unbuckling
Nick: (delighted) I think you’re right. I just want to kill the fire before we go to bed.
Martha: Oh, just leave it. It’ll be fine.
Nick: Better safe than sorry.
Martha: Fine, fine. But hurry. I’ll be waiting to unwrap you.
They kiss again, and Martha exits
Nick stands there, a little dazed, then makes his way to the fireplace and moves the peacock grate to the side. Using the shovel leaning against the side of the fireplace, he makes sure the embers are all out by tamping them down. He gets a brown paper bag and scoops the embers into metal dustpan, then into the bag. When he is finished, he secures the top of the bag, puts the shovel and dustpan back, and replaces the peacock screen. He takes the bag and walks from the living room through the kitchen and into the Mud Room, where he places the bag. Nick walks back through and as he enters the living room, begins taking his belt and trousers off, exiting eagerly in the same direction as Martha. Lights go down. After a pause, the bag in the Mud Room begins to glow red.
A pause.
In the darkness, the wail of sirens is heard
Fade to black
The scrim scrolls in the background, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: OMG he didn’t do his ONE fucking job!
Two: This guy’s toast.
Three: Murderer!
Four: Jail for you, scum
One: baby murderer
Five: Why didn’t he try to save the children?
Six: Banging her for the money
Seven: He and the girlfriend got out but no one else did
Six: Arson
Five (include online typos): It’s the responsibility of the contractor to MAKE SURE the smoke detectors AND THE FIRE ALAMS in her home were working as he knew there has 3 children living there. What kind of a**hole puts children in danger like that? Hide in a hole!
Four: Put him down like a dog
Five: Think about the dead children you killed. Think about it
Eight: He should be put in jail for stupidity.
Nine: Nope – sue his ass and take his life from him
Ten (include online typos): IF YOUD DONE YOUR JOB THE KIDS ED BE ALIVE
Four: No man who is really a man would ever let this happen
Eight: 100% his fault
One: BABY MURDERER
Scene 15
A couple of months later in session with Dr. Gold
Martha: I can’t remember my children. Their voices, what they sound like. I can’t see them. I can’t see their faces.
Dr. Gold: Do you talk about your children?
Martha: (long pause) No.
Dr. Gold is silent
Martha: But I hear them in my dreams.
Dr. Gold waits
Martha: One in particular.
Dr. Gold waits
Martha: I wake up from a sound sleep in a strange house, I don’t recognize the house. But I know what woke me: I heard my children crying. For me. At first I think they’re in the house, in the walls. Their voices are coming from inside the walls. Mama, mama, mama. Then my phone rings and it’s the girls’ voices: Mama, mama– a cacophony of voices, all at once. I ask where are you, where are you? I don’t know Mama I don’t know. Then Jess says, I’m at Nana’s I’m at Nana’s and Honor and Rose I hear them say Mama mama and I pull on a shirt run out the door to my mother’s house and they both answer the door! I am relieved but… they don’t… recognize me. Don’t know who I am. I beg them to let me in; and they say, No, the previous owners are dead, they’re dead and they shut the door so I bang on the door and keep banging, because I still hear Mama mama mama.
Dr. Gold waits. Martha reaches for the tissue box on the table
Martha: Don’t ask me how I fucking feel!
Dr. Gold: (slight pause) Patients do say this to me from time to time.
Martha: They do?
Dr.Gold: Yes.
Martha: And your response is…?
Dr. Gold: My response is, ‘Clearly you’re feeling angry.’ (pause) I’m kidding! Come on now. How did you feel in the dream?
Martha: Helpless. Frantic. Undone. I could not find them.
Dr. Gold: You could not find them?
Martha: I could not help them!
Dr. Gold: (waits) Could you try talking about your children?
Martha: I don’t… know.
Dr. Gold: To me.
Martha: I don’t know.
Dr. Gold: Try. Start with Jess.
Martha: (through tears) Ah, Jess. (a little laugh) My little overachiever.
Dr. Gold: What is she like?
Martha: Is… she?
Dr. Gold: Is she.
Martha: I can think of them that way?
Dr. Gold: You can think of your children and remember your children and speak of your children any way you damn well please.
Martha: (breathes) Okay. Jess… is… well, you have never met any girl so particular about her clothing, I can tell you that! Oh, but maybe you will understand her better than I. Um… pauses
Dr. Gold: Tell me the best story about Jess that you can think of.
Martha: (breathes) Ah… well, when Jess was about six, she asked for a pair of white Keds, pristine white. I said, ‘They will get dirty immediately; why not a bright color? Keds come in all kinds of colors.’ But she insisted. I got her the Keds. She was delighted opening the box, they fit perfectly… she went to the playroom, I was working in my office. Not an hour later, Jess came in – the office door was never locked when I was home – and she said, ‘Mama! Look!’ And she pointed to her Keds. She had painted smiley faces in all colors and sizes all over her new sneakers. I said, ‘Jess! I just bought those for you!’ She said, ‘I know Mama, I made them mine!’ (begins to laugh) A six-year-old customizer!
Dr. Gold laughs with Martha
The scrim scrolls, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: House been bulldozed finally
Two: Good only fucking rubberneckers come to take fucking pictures
Three: Seen the license plates? Canada, California, New York, Ohio
Four: Lining up for what?
Two: Fuckin vultures takin pictures of a graveyard
Six: Cars cars cars drivin’ like a funeral procession
Five: Everyday. They come everyday. Some lay flowers some do nothing except stare at the ashes
Six: City needs to put a stop to this shit
Eight: Or charge admission
Two (include online typo): Hey asshole! No tourist traps here you goul
Eight: Calm the fuck down it was a joke
Seven: Comedian change profession, please
Six: Slash tires a better idea
Nine (include online typos): Now your taking
Ten: Anyway she got nothin to come home to now
Nine: Talking
Two: Not her it’s him I told you
Scene 16
A few months later, in session with Dr. Gold
Martha: The worst thing is that the world lost them. It’s my loss, but it’s the world’s loss, too.
Dr. Gold: They sound like extraordinary children.
Martha: They are. (pause) Were? Are.
Dr. Gold: Are. Will always be.
Martha: (thinking) I’ve been thinking about… tenses… a lot. No one teaches a person how to mourn. But there are unwritten rules that are learned: There is a ceremony. There is a burial. Perhaps a wake. Afterwards, a “reception” with too many people and too much talking, small talk, politeness, too much food. Then everyone leaves. It’s past, the dead become the past, and back to life. That’s what’s expected, isn’t it? Get back to the living and the living of life.
Dr. Gold: There are many things the West gets wrong, and mourning is one of them.
Martha: But those rules don’t have to be my rules.
Dr. Gold: No, they don’t.
Martha: Present tense. It keeps their little spirits alive for me. All the years together, all of us. Except…
Dr. Gold: Except…
Martha: Bradley. Except Bradley.
Dr Gold: Ah.
Martha: He hates me. Won’t talk to me.
Dr. Gold: And how…
Martha: (cutting her off) Horrible! It makes me feel horrible. And alone. (pause) The one thing I have figured out here is that if I die, the children die with me. No one will ever know about them. No one will ever know how lovely they were. Their memories die with me. I don’t want that. If that’s all I have right now… I can do it for them.
Dr. Gold: Can you?
Martha: I can survive for them.
Dr. Gold says nothing
Martha: But Bradley… is incredibly angry. Still. And he has every right to be. Threatened legal action against… almost everyone. Not me, for some reason.
Dr. Gold: That’s… hopeful.
Martha: Is it?
Dr. Gold: It takes a great deal of energy to hold onto anger. To hold onto hate. To sustain those kinds of negative emotions. But for some it is preferable, because to let go of hate and anger means that what one is left to deal with is pain.
Martha: I don’t know if he will…ever forgive me.
Dr. Gold: And if he doesn’t?
Martha: I said him hating me made me feel alone. (pause) Bradley is the only one who has the same memories of the girls as I do. He is the only one who shares our history: birthdays and vacations and flu and all of us diving into one big bed together… I don’t have that with anyone else.
Dr. Gold: I would suggest leaving him be for now.
Martha: Oh, I have. I tried and tried and… gave up.
Dr. Gold: Do you have friends you can talk about the girls with?
Martha: Yes. Yes, I do.
Dr. Gold: Excellent.
Martha: Once I began talking about the girls, with you, their voices started to come back to me. I could hear them. See them. See their faces. They’re with me.
Dr. Gold: Wonderful! That’s wonderful.
Martha: It’s good to have them with me.
Dr. Gold: (pause) Martha, I’m recommending you for outpatient care.
Martha: (startled) Oh.
Dr. Gold: Well, you’ve been here for over a year. That is the goal, isn’t it. To be able to make a different kind of life, to want to do that? It sounds like you do.
Martha: Yes. Yes, I do. It’s just…
Dr. Gold: Just?
Martha: I’ve grown so fond of you and… so comfortable here.
Dr. Gold: (smiling) That is exactly when you know it’s time to leave. Not the “fond of you” part – which I do appreciate. But comfortable is a tell.
Martha: I may… I may need company to start with. Stay with friends.
Dr. Gold: Understood. The staff can help you make arrangements.
Martha: Will I…will I see you again?
Dr. Gold: Martha, I have grown fond of you, too. But the goal is not to see me again. However, we will continue with outpatient care. You will see less of me, but I won’t leave you high and dry.
Dr. Gold stands, with her notebook in hand. Martha stands, too. Then suddenly, Martha rushes Dr. Gold, throws her arms around her and gives her an all-enveloping hug. Dr. Gold is taken aback. Martha stops, steps back, is weeping, dries her eyes. Dr. Gold looks at her, pauses
Dr. Gold: Martha. Tell your extraordinary girls Dr. Gold says hello.
Martha: I will. I will.
Dr. Gold exits
Scene 17
Maryann’s house in the Hamptons, interior bedroom.
As lights come up, there are sounds of children laughing. Martha is sitting up, her hands under the covers, in bed, wild-eyed, staring.
A knock at the door.
Maryann: Martha?
Martha does not answer
Maryann enters, with a glass of water and a vial in her hands
Maryann: You have to take this, hon.
Martha shakes her head
Maryann: You have to. Doctor Gold’s orders. Sleep is necessary.
Martha does not move
Maryann puts the glass and vial on the bedside table, and gently takes one of Martha’s hands from under the covers. Maryann puts a tablet in Martha’s hand, and motions for her to take it. Martha does and Maryann gives her the water.
Maryann: That’s right, hon.
Maryann takes the glass and vial and turns to leave
Martha: Why don’t you hate me?
Maryann: Because I don’t.
Martha: I hate me.
Maryann: Oh, I know.
Martha: Everyone else hates me, too, Maryann.
Maryann: (sitting on the bed) Oh I know that, too.
Martha: Then why…?
Maryann: The “I hate Martha Club” is one I prefer not to join. Though I do hear it is very popular.
Martha says nothing
Maryann: I don’t use this house very often, and I don’t know why my mother needed a third home; eventually I’ll sell it… Hamptons folks are worse snoots than Greenwich folks. You know you can stay here as long as you like. You can live here, you know that. The only thing you can’t do is die here. Waste away. Give up.
Martha says nothing
Maryann (Cont’d): Martha. You were smart before all this happened and you’re still smart. So I’m not going to try to make you feel better with platitudes because I don’t think you’d believe me.
Martha: Maryann…
Maryann: Yes?
Martha: In my place, what would you do?
Maryann: I wouldn’t want to be in your place. (Pause) But I’ve never liked martyrs.
Martha: You’re the only one.
Maryann nods
Maryann: I know.
Martha: The others…
Maryann: I’ve never liked that, either.
Martha makes a quizzical face.
Maryann: Deserters.
Martha: (tentatively) May I… may I talk to you about the girls?
Maryann: Sure! Let me just grab a drink and I’ll be back in a second.
Martha nods. Maryann exits. Maryann comes back with a glass of wine and gets into bed beside Martha. Martha reaches for Maryann’s hand. She grasps it, and they look at each other.
Martha: Honor and Rose have a language that only the two of them understand.
Maryann: Really? I did not know that. I knew they had that twin thing, that kind of spooky twin thing…
Martha: They made it up themselves. Like Tolkien! Maybe to prevent me from understanding what they were talking about…Martha keeps talking.
The scrim scrolls in the background, on a loop, online anonymous comments.
One: Poor woman
Two: How she suffered!
Three: Can’t believe what she went through
Four: I don’t know how she survived
One: Grace of god go I
Five: Such strength!
Six: Lost everything, everything
Seven: Character – either you have it or you don’t and she has it in spades
Six: Incredible woman, my heart goes out to her
Five: Resilience, lessons for us all
Four: Jesus saves
Five: She’s the bravest woman I’ve ever heard of
Eight: Friends deserted her. I mean “Friends” deserted her
Nine: None of those bitches would have lasted A GODDAM DAY
Ten: She don’t need them anyways
Four: Jesus will save us all
Eight: She deserves to live the rest of her life out in peace, she deserves peace after all of that heartbreak
One: Sending thoughts and prayers to that poor, poor woman
Scene 18
Maryann’s backyard. Martha is sitting next to Maryann around an electric fire pit, and there is a bottle of red between them. Both have glasses in their hands. They stare at the fire pit for awhile.
Martha: Do you remember, the winter before your mother got sick, when we went to your condo in West Palm? It was unseasonably warm, highs in the mid-eighties, and we loved it because we could walk the beach every day. We couldn’t sit still, that feeling of restlessness. Jumping out of our skin. And you wanted this pink shell: I still don’t know what it’s called, but it looked like a particular type of pasta, or a curled tongue. Mostly, I ignored you. I wanted to walk as far as I could, go adventuring. But one day we went to the beach and it was low tide, but a rough surf, smashing against those rocks that remind me of pueblos. You went looking for your shells again and I decided finally to help, since you seemed to have no luck at all.
Maryann: Not for the first time!
Martha: At the base of one of those rocks, I found a treasure trove of your shells. But they came with a price: every time I bent to grab one, a wave would come and smack me in the face if I didn’t grab it quickly enough. And it was work: the waves would roll the shells down and away, then back again, and I had to be really, really fast. I yelled to you: Maryann, Maryann! But the waves were loud and you couldn’t hear me. So I began amassing these shells, running up to dry sand, and then running back to hunt for your shells. Hours passed, and I swear, every shell I got made me want more, I was completely exhilarated. When you finally came over and I showed you what I had found – about a hundred of your shells – you were so happy and excited, as much as I was, that we jumped up and down with joy and laughed our heads off. I can’t remember being so happy over something so simple, you know? Wanting something, getting something, and making another person happy made me happy. We finally went inside and put all of those shells in an enormous glass vase for your mother. She absolutely loved it.
(Pause)
What I want to know is, will I ever have that feeling again, or does it only happen with something as simple as shells? Did I stop knowing how to do that, or did it stop making me happy, at some point? I wish I hadn’t needed more than that, Maryann. That time on the beach.
Maryann: Simple times.
Martha: Yes.
Maryann: That was one of the happiest days of my life.
Martha: Mine, too.
Both pause. Take a drink.
Martha: It goes so fast.
Maryann: It does.
Both pause. Take a drink.
Maryann: You won’t stop. You won’t. Even if you wanted to, you won’t.
Martha: What’s that?
Maryann: Being the mother of Jess, Honor and Rose. Being the daughter of Homer and Anne.
Martha nods. They look at the fire pit.
Maryann: You cold?
Martha: A bit.
Maryann: I’ll go grab a shawl.
Martha: That’s okay.
Maryann: No, no. I’ll be right back.
Maryann puts down her wine, and exits. Martha continues to look at the fire pit. She looks up at the stars, nods. Maryann comes back out with a shawl and drapes it over Martha’s shoulders.
Maryann: Here you go.
Martha touches her hand, smiles. Maryann acknowledges, sits back down, picks up her wine.
Maryann: (breathing in and stretching) Fall’s coming. I can feel it.
Martha: Yes. The smell in the air, the sharpness in the breeze.
Maryann: I love the fall.
Martha: (breathes in deeply, exhales) I do, too.
Lights go down. End of play.
Lisa del Rosso (she/her) originally trained as a classical singer and completed a post-graduate program at LAMDA (London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art), living and performing in London before moving to New York City. Her plays Clare’s Room and Samaritan have been performed Off-Broadway, while St. John was a semi-finalist for the 2011 Eugene O’Neill National Playwrights Conference. Del Rosso’s latest play, Never Let You Go —published here in the adapted version Those Who We Keep— was given a reading at Theater for the New City, New York City, in April 2024. Her writing has appeared in many publications, including The New York Times, Etched Onyx Magazine, The Night Heron Barks, Ran Off with the Star Bassoon, The Chillfiltr Review, Serving House Journal, Vietnam War Poetry, The Huffington Post, Jetlag Café (Germany), and One Magazine (London/UK). Del Rosso was interviewed on Brian Lehrer’s WNYC radio program after her first book, Confessions of an Accidental Professor, was published in 2018. Her second book, You Are All a Part of Me, for which she also recorded the audiobook version, was published in 2021. In 2022, her essay “By Choice” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She is the recipient of a 2018 NYU (New York University) College of Arts & Sciences Teaching Award, where she currently teaches writing.
Website: http://www.ldelrosso.com/
Publisher: http://servinghousebooks.com/dd-product/you-are-all-a-part-of-me/.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ldelrosso1
Instagram: @lisa.delrosso.9
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