J.J. Steinfeld fiction play Counting on Love
Detail from Beautiful Balance by Gloria E. Moses, Oil on Panel, 30″ x 24″.
Counting On Love
Editor’s note: The play, “Counting on Love“, is based on the author’s short story “Counting on Love” from Should the Word Hell Be Capitalized? (Gaspereau Press, 1999) by J. J. Steinfeld. For information on performance rights, please contact the playwright: jjwriterpei@gmail.com.
A One-Act Play
CAST OF CHARACTERS
GREGORY: a fifty-four-year-old man, Amanda’s husband
AMANDA: a fifty-one-year-old woman, Gregory’s wife
(The couple have been married a little over three years, and have known each other for three years, eight months. It is the first marriage for both.)
SETTING: The play takes place in two rooms of a house: the bedroom (stage left) and the study (stage right). The first portion of the play takes place in the couple’s bedroom, and the second portion in Gregory’s study. Both rooms are conventionally furnished, the bedroom including a bed, dresser, and television set, and the study including a desk, computer, chair, and bookcase. In an unnamed city.
TIME: Late Saturday morning, before the couple have had breakfast. No specific year is referred to during the play, but it can be the present or recent past.
SCENE 1
Bedroom at stage left is illuminated. Gregory and Amanda, both casually dressed, have recently made love.
GREGORY: (Positioning himself on the floor, near the bed, and starts to do sit-ups slowly) I don’t think if I did a thousand sit-ups a morning my belly would shrink.
AMANDA: (Standing near Gregory and looking down lovingly at him) I think you burned up quite a few calories this morning.
GREGORY: It felt like an extra special morning.
AMANDA: I should go away to conferences more often, Gregory.
GREGORY: I missed you very much. That’s the longest we’ve been apart since we got married.
AMANDA: Five days isn’t that long.
GREGORY: Long enough. Did you behave yourself?
AMANDA: That’s a strange question to ask.
GREGORY: There must have been more than a few attractive men at the conference.
AMANDA: I have to admit I was tempted—
GREGORY: Tempted? Temptation is the first step.
AMANDA: First step to what?
GREGORY: To having a fling.
AMANDA: I find fling a rather odd-sounding word.
GREGORY: It’s a perfectly good, descriptive word.
AMANDA: Would you want to know if I had a fling?
GREGORY: Not really.
AMANDA: Then why bring it up?
GREGORY: Well, did you?
AMANDA: You just got through telling me you wouldn’t want to know.
GREGORY: I don’t want to sound jealous.
AMANDA: Are you jealous?
GREGORY: I hope not.
AMANDA: You either are jealous or you aren’t jealous. Which one is it?
GREGORY: A lot can go through a husband’s mind during five days alone.
AMANDA: But I’m back and I must say you were lovey-dovey…and then some.
GREGORY: Nice to be appreciated.
AMANDA: You eat some secret aphrodisiac this morning?
GREGORY: Didn’t think I had it in me anymore?
AMANDA: In all candour, my dearest, it’s not like we’re on our honeymoon. You really took your time this morning…paced yourself. And did I say morning? You are not ordinarily a morning person.
GREGORY: I did want it to be special.
AMANDA: It was special, all right. Special and spectacular. I think I’ll go to a conference once a month, if I can swing it.
GREGORY: (Slowing up his sit-ups even more) It wasn’t the conference.
AMANDA: The sun rise differently this morning?
GREGORY: Something of personal significance.
AMANDA: (Kneeling down and patting Gregory’s belly affectionately) You going to let me in on it?
GREGORY: I don’t know if it would have the same significance for you.
AMANDA: Don’t be so cryptic. (Gives him a kiss) Three years of marriage, and you give me a delightful surprise. That’s what marriages need—surprises. Even on our anniversary last month you were…in a rush.
GREGORY: We didn’t make love until after midnight, so it doesn’t qualify as on our anniversary. Not technically, at least.
AMANDA: It wasn’t that late.
GREGORY: Yes, it was.
AMANDA: I’m sure we were done before midnight.
GREGORY: We started after midnight.
AMANDA: How can you be so certain?
GREGORY: Take my word for it, Amanda.
AMANDA: Whatever it was—either aphrodisiac or conference or sensational sunrise—I’ll take the result.
GREGORY: (Stops doing sit-ups; but remains in a sitting position, his arms around his knees) Couldn’t I merely trade my eternal soul for being half in shape? There has to be an easier, more humane way to outwit middle-age spread.
AMANDA: We should never take each other for granted.
GREGORY: I wouldn’t do that. Waiting to get married until you’re over fifty makes you appreciate marriage and one’s partner.
AMANDA: I only held out until I was forty-eight.
GREGORY: Close enough.
AMANDA: But this morning was certainly different. Substantially, palpably, noticeably different.
GREGORY: Oh, there’s an explanation.
AMANDA: I’d like to hear it.
GREGORY: Some other time. When you’re older and wiser.
AMANDA: I’m as wise as I’ll ever get.
GREGORY: I’ll know when it’s the proper time to divulge my secret information.
AMANDA: Give me a clue.
GREGORY: You don’t have to tell me about your temptation.
AMANDA: I admitted I was tempted.
GREGORY: I admit I have a secret.
AMANDA: That doesn’t quite satisfy me.
GREGORY: Let’s not be greedy for information.
AMANDA: I’m only asking for a tidbit.
GREGORY: You’re going to have to do without.
AMANDA: (Starts to tickle Gregory) Tell me…out with it…come on…
GREGORY: Stop it, sweetie. I’m tired from doing my sit-ups—
AMANDA: (Continuing to tickle Gregory) And this morning’s amorous activity. How can you still move?
GREGORY: It’s been strenuous for my old bones, but well worth the risk to life and limb.
AMANDA: I bet.
GREGORY: When did you become such a tickler? Stop it…
AMANDA: The explanation or else—
GREGORY: I don’t want to die laughing.
AMANDA: Give me an explanation.
GREGORY: No!
AMANDA: Yes!
GREGORY: No!
AMANDA: My ability to tickle is limitless.
GREGORY: You’re being childish.
AMANDA: I’m being determined.
GREGORY: I can’t take this tickling.
AMANDA: (Tickling Gregory harder and more rapidly) Don’t make me resort to my phenomenally potent, sadistic tickle, for which there is no defence against.
GREGORY: This tickling is too much.
AMANDA: (Becoming more theatrical and forceful with her tickling) You’re leaving me no choice.
GREGORY: Please stop.
AMANDA: (With a surge of intense tickling) May the Lord have mercy on your—
GREGORY: It was the five hundredth time.
AMANDA: (Stops her tickling) What?
GREGORY: I told you. You happy?
AMANDA: Told me what?
GREGORY: It was the five hundredth time, and I wanted it to be extra special.
AMANDA: What are you talking about? Five hundredth time of what?
GREGORY: (Standing up) We’ve made love five hundred times.
AMANDA: (Also standing up) You’re just estimating, aren’t you?
GREGORY: No, I’m not estimating. Exactly five hundred times.
AMANDA: You mean approximately.
GREGORY: I mean precisely five hundred times. On the button.
AMANDA: How can you possibly know?
GREGORY: I know.
AMANDA: Are you positive? Absolutely certain?
GREGORY: A man knows.
AMANDA: What kind of explanation is that? A man doesn’t know. You’re lucky to know how much you have in your checking account.
GREGORY: Checking accounts are a different matter altogether.
AMANDA: Out of what hat did you pull this five-hundred number?
GREGORY: I’ve kept track.
AMANDA: You have to be putting me on.
GREGORY: Not in the least. If I say I’ve kept track, I have.
AMANDA: You’re not good with numbers, and your memory isn’t going to win any awards.
GREGORY: I know how to pick up a pen and write things down.
AMANDA: Write what things down?
GREGORY: Things about our intimacy.
AMANDA: Where have you been writing about our intimacy?
GREGORY: In notebooks.
AMANDA: You never told me.
GREGORY: I can’t tell you every little thing I do.
AMANDA: You could tell me about your notebooks.
GREGORY: They’re private.
AMANDA: Our lovemaking is a joint enterprise, in case you haven’t noticed.
GREGORY: They’re my personal diaries.
AMANDA: Personal diaries?
GREGORY: Yes, that’s how I regard my notebooks.
AMANDA: Let me see your record-keeping.
GREGORY: It’s not important.
AMANDA: Important enough for you to keep meticulous track, which you don’t do with your checking account.
GREGORY: Let’s drop the subject. I’ll make you a memorable breakfast.
AMANDA: Breakfast can wait.
GREGORY: It will be a lovers’ breakfast.
AMANDA: I need an explanation first.
GREGORY: How about I take you out for breakfast…brunch.
AMANDA: I want to see your sex diaries before we go anywhere. Five hundred times…
GREGORY: I can’t.
AMANDA: What, you incapacitated? You can show me if you want.
GREGORY: I really can’t.
AMANDA: You don’t want to would be more accurate.
GREGORY: Can’t, don’t want to, let’s simply drop the subject.
AMANDA: Give me a quick look, and that will be that.
GREGORY: You sure?
AMANDA: You want me to put my hand on a Bible first?
GREGORY: I believe you, but you’re acting so upset.
AMANDA: If you don’t show me, five hundred is where it’s going to stay.
GREGORY: (Puts his hands on Amanda’s shoulders and tries to get her to sit down on the bed, but she resists) Sit down…compose yourself.
AMANDA: (Still standing) I don’t want to compose myself. I want to see your sex diaries.
GREGORY: Okay, hold tight and I’ll be back with a notebook before you can do ten sit-ups. (He leaves the bedroom.)
AMANDA: I’m not doing any sit-ups. (She angrily throws night clothes into a hamper and then starts to make the bed.)
GREGORY: (A short time later; enters the bedroom, with a spiral notebook held behind his back. Stands across the room from Amanda) I would have made the bed.
AMANDA: (Finishes making the bed) Let me see what you have.
GREGORY: (Brings the spiral notebook from behind his back and holds it up toward Amanda) Here you are, sweetheart. Take your look.
AMANDA: (Squints at Gregory‘s notebook) Why does it have Volume Four on the cover?
(Gregory does not answer. He opens the notebook to a middle page and holds it up to Amanda, from across the room. He moves a few steps backward, stopping with his backside to the television set.)
AMANDA: (As she moves a little closer to Gregory) Have you been keeping track since we met? The first night?
GREGORY: (Stepping back) I gave you your quick look, as requested. May I put my diary away now? (Takes another step back, bumps into the television, and nervously moves to the side of the set.)
AMANDA: Explain your diary to me.
GREGORY: (Closes the notebook and starts to walk toward the bedroom door) Some other time, Amanda.
AMANDA: (Loudly) What is all that writing about?
GREGORY: Nothing.
AMANDA: Nothing? I saw your careful handwriting all over the page. From top to bottom. Since when have you become the big writer? You don’t even like writing letters.
GREGORY: Curiosity killed the cat.
AMANDA: I am not a cat! I am a person who wants a response to her reasonable question.
GREGORY: I’m not all that curious about your private life.
AMANDA: It’s safe to say we’re very different people.
GREGORY: Don’t be so curious.
AMANDA: Unless you have something horrible to hide, you can tell me what you wrote.
GREGORY: (At the bedroom door) It’s only…only what you’d call comments.
AMANDA: Stay in this room!
GREGORY: (Turns to face Amanda) We should really go out to brunch now. I’m hungry.
AMANDA: I want you to tell me about your comments.
GREGORY: Just my thoughts about our lovemaking.
AMANDA: Let me read for myself.
GREGORY: I’ll read parts to you some other time. When you’re in a more suitable mood. (Amanda rushes toward Gregory.)
GREGORY: Now’s not the right time.
(Amanda grabs the notebook from Gregory. She opens the notebook and starts to read.)
GREGORY: (Uneasily looking over Amanda’s shoulder) There’s a page or two for each time we were intimate.
AMANDA: (Goes through several pages before lifting her eyes to Gregory) I can’t believe what you’ve written. The time we spent having sex, to the minute… You rate our sex together… letter grades like for kids at school. What’s wrong with you?
GREGORY: I wanted an accurate record.
AMANDA: For what earthly, rational purpose? And for whom?
GREGORY: I merely wanted a personal record, nothing more. A sort of verification of our love.
AMANDA: Did I hear you right? Verification? You wanted verification of our love?
GREGORY: You know what I mean.
AMANDA: (Glancing at another page in the notebook) This is foul.
GREGORY: You’re really overreacting, sweetheart.
AMANDA: (Tapping at a page) You gave this session a low grade.
GREGORY: You can’t get good grades all the time.
AMANDA: We’re not in school.
GREGORY: Stop overreacting.
AMANDA: You’re fifty-four years old.
GREGORY: What does that have to do with anything?
AMANDA: If a teenager was writing this, I’d suspect he has a little brain and a big libido.
GREGORY: Everything in that diary is from a mature perspective.
AMANDA: (Reading further) What I was wearing before I undressed… Time of day… Weather conditions outside… What was said during our sexual relations… Type of sex performed… This is crazy…completely crazy.
GREGORY: A record of lovemaking shouldn’t be called crazy.
AMANDA: Maybe I should call it demented…or perverse.
GREGORY: Maybe you should listen to yourself getting carried away.
AMANDA: (Looking at Gregory) You going to turn this into a hot bestselling book?
GREGORY: Certainly not.
AMANDA: Plans for a movie version?
GREGORY: What I wrote is for personal consumption only.
AMANDA: Where are the other three volumes?
GREGORY: Let’s go to brunch.
AMANDA: I assume if there’s a Volume Four, there must be Volumes One through Three, correct?
GREGORY: You like going out for Saturday brunch.
AMANDA: Where are they?!
GREGORY: I can’t believe how you’re—
AMANDA: Where?!
GREGORY: Wouldn’t it be better to go out for brunch instead of getting annoyed with each other?
AMANDA: I don’t give a damn about brunch right now. If you don’t tell me where your diaries are, I’ll go through every inch of this house until I find them. (Starts to go out the bedroom door.)
GREGORY: (Grabs Amanda by the arm) I’ve never heard you this angry before.
AMANDA: (Pulls her arm free) I’ve never known about your record-keeping. (Facing Gregory) Three years married, Gregory, and I find out now.
GREGORY: We all need our privacies.
AMANDA: I agree…yes, I agree. I’d be the last one to dispute that. However, my dear husband, I’m intimately involved with your privacies. (Waves the notebook she is holding at Gregory) I’m going to keep looking until I find the other diaries. (Makes another attempt to get by Gregory.)
GREGORY: (Grabbing Amanda’s arm again) They’re only in my study, Amanda.
(Amanda pulls her arm free once more and gets by Gregory. She leaves the bedroom, with him following her. They enter the study. Amanda switches on the light and stage right becomes illuminated as stage left darkens.)
AMANDA: (Looking around the study) Where are they?… Where the hell are they? (Goes to Gregory’s desk and searches through the items on the cluttered desktop. She slams Volume Four down on the desk, but does not release it. Slams the notebook down a second time, harder.)
GREGORY: (Standing near the study door and watching Amanda ) Pull yourself together, Amanda.
AMANDA: (Indifferently rearranging a few of the desk items) Your figure of five hundred times in three years sounds a little high to me.
GREGORY: Remember that we dated for almost eight months before we got married.
AMANDA: Still sounds high to me.
GREGORY: We were quite active during the first year, especially the early months. There was one particular night that we—
AMANDA: You sound like you’re trying to explain unusual expenses during a tax audit.
GREGORY: That’s utterly silly.
AMANDA: I thought you worked on your coin collection in here.
GREGORY: I do lots of things in this room.
AMANDA: No doubt you do. (Tapping the computer monitor) I can imagine what you’ve been surfing.
GREGORY: I’ve never looked at anything dirty, if that’s what you mean.
AMANDA: Maybe you are a little too old-fashioned for such sexual escapades in cyberspace. You are more a write-it-down-by-hand person, it seems. (She intentionally knocks a container of pens and a box of personalized stationery off the desk) Where are your sex diaries?
GREGORY: You bought me that stationery for my birthday.
AMANDA: I spent too much.
GREGORY: It was a wonderful, thoughtful gift.
AMANDA: Did we make love on your birthday?
GREGORY: I can’t recall.
AMANDA: (Looking through Volume Four) Let me see…here we are. Shucks, we didn’t do so well on your birthday. You were depressed. “Down in the dumps” is your phrase. Fifty-four years old and you were disappointed. Great expectations shattered.
GREGORY: Despite my carping about my middle-age spread, I don’t mind getting older.
AMANDA: A ‘C-‘ on your birthday. It must have been a letdown.
GREGORY: I don’t remember.
AMANDA: It’s all written down here in your notebook…for posterity. It says I was somewhat too demanding, whatever that means.
GREGORY: Please—
AMANDA: One of your quickies…famous quickies.
GREGORY: We have different senses of time.
AMANDA: That’s one way to look at it. (She intensifies her search for the other three notebooks.)
GREGORY: Stop messing things up.
AMANDA: Not until you tell me where your diaries are. (Throws a stapler hard to the floor.)
GREGORY: They’re in the bookcase, behind you…top shelf.
AMANDA: (Searches through the books on the top shelf of the bookcase) I don’t see any damn notebooks.
GREGORY: Behind the books.
AMANDA: (Throws several books to the floor in her search… Finds the three notebooks and pulls them off the bookshelf) Why did you hide them?
GREGORY: (Moves closer to Amanda. Picks up some of the books and puts them back on the top bookshelf) They weren’t hidden.
AMANDA: I never come into your sacred study unless you’re here.
GREGORY: Honestly, they weren’t hidden.
AMANDA: We also seem to have different senses of what hidden means. You prefer the word concealed?
GREGORY: They weren’t concealed either.
AMANDA: (Sits down on Gregory‘s chair, at his desk. She places the four notebooks in a stack in front of her, then opens Volume One) Volume One, Entry One—How great to refresh my memory. I’d forgotten that you ripped my beige pantyhose in your exuberant passion.
GREGORY: Don’t make it sound crude.
AMANDA: You wrote the words down.
GREGORY: You’re reading things out of context.
AMANDA: You want it word-for-word?
GREGORY: No—
AMANDA: Fortunately, it was a ‘B+‘. A pair of pantyhose is a small price to pay for such a good grade.
GREGORY: You know how things happen in the heat of passion.
AMANDA: It’s a shame I never took any photos of you when we were having sex. A pictorial record would add so much to your written record.
GREGORY: No need to be annoyed.
AMANDA: Wait till I find an ‘A‘ session.
GREGORY: There were certainly some.
AMANDA: (Skimming through Volume One) I’m sure there were. Except that they’re few and far between.
GREGORY: It’s all relative.
AMANDA: I understand about grades. What I don’t understand is your need to grade our lovemaking.
GREGORY: Every single time together was wonderful…but some times were better.
AMANDA: Or worse.
GREGORY: This morning was certainly an ‘A‘.
AMANDA: You sure it wasn’t an ‘A-‘? The heavy breathing was a little laboured…somewhat mechanical.
GREGORY: You’ve gotten yourself into a terrible agitation over nothing.
AMANDA: How many ‘A’s‘ have there been in the five hundred?
GREGORY: I wouldn’t know offhand.
AMANDA: Give me an educated guess.
GREGORY: I’d say fifteen or twenty.
AMANDA: Out of five hundred?
GREGORY: And about that many ‘A-‘s‘.
AMANDA: Reassuring to know. I haven’t seen any failing grades, and I do distinctly remember the occasional night when my dear husband was, shall we say, a little on the soft side.
GREGORY: There’s more to lovemaking than penetration.
AMANDA: But you only kept track of the times when there was actual sexual intercourse.
GREGORY: I think you’re exaggerating.
AMANDA: I haven’t run across any detailed descriptions of cuddling or snuggling. I didn’t notice a single reference to necking or petting, unless it ended in the act.
GREGORY: I have certain criteria for inclusion in my personal diaries.
AMANDA: There seems to be one essential criterion, if you ask me.
GREGORY: You are intent on distorting what I wrote.
AMANDA: (Still skimming through Volume One) I’m not distorting a damn thing. This is all pretty disgusting. (She goes randomly through the four notebooks, becoming angrier and angrier as she reads.)
GREGORY: Don’t be so rough with my diaries… Careful, you tore that page.
AMANDA: (As she continues to read) This is nothing but filth.
GREGORY: What I wrote is my business.
AMANDA: You certainly tend to lean toward the crass and the explicit in your writing. You should stick to numbers, they’re neater…less vulgar.
GREGORY: Those are my most sincere feelings.
AMANDA: You’re a full-fledged pornographer.
GREGORY: What a preposterous accusation.
AMANDA: You get off on writing this?
GREGORY: I was being objective.
AMANDA: This is the most subjective crap I’ve ever read.
GREGORY: There are facts and figures.
AMANDA: And letter grades.
GREGORY: That part is subjective, but not the rest.
AMANDA: We didn’t do some of this.
GREGORY: Yes we did.
AMANDA: Maybe in your fantasies.
GREGORY: We did them in bed.
AMANDA: Not with me, you didn’t.
GREGORY: Of course with you.
AMANDA: I’ve never done some of these things.
GREGORY: I may have embellished a little.
AMANDA: You embellished a great deal. In fact, you did much more than embellish. You fabricated.
GREGORY: I concede there is some embellishment of what we did, but there are no lies in my notebooks.
AMANDA: Who is this woman you write about?
GREGORY: It’s you.
AMANDA: Is this what you wanted us to do?
GREGORY: It’s what we did.
AMANDA: I’m not a whore you’re having your way with.
GREGORY: I didn’t describe anything like that. I wrote about our marriage.
AMANDA: You created an imaginary marriage…a different couple.
GREGORY: I wrote about us.
AMANDA: I’m going to destroy this filth.
GREGORY: (Approaching his desk) I won’t let you. Those diaries belong to me.
(Gregory grabs three of the volumes from Amanda, she manages to retain Volume Four firmly in her grip and stands up from the desk. He steps away from the desk and holds the three volumes against his stomach. A triumphant look on Gregory’s face further irritates Amanda.)
AMANDA: There’s no need to get so aggressive and protective about your diaries.
GREGORY: These are mine. I have every right in the world to describe our times together.
AMANDA: Why didn’t you tell me?
GREGORY: You would have gotten upset, like now.
AMANDA: Not if I had known from the beginning. We should have shared this. Three years…three years, eight months…five hundred fucks.
GREGORY: Lovemaking is a better word for our intimacies.
AMANDA: You call them fucks and a lot more in your love diaries.
GREGORY: When I write, I choose my words very carefully.
AMANDA: Have you done this sort of thing all your life?
GREGORY: What sort of thing?
AMANDA: Evaluating, grading, and keeping meticulous track of sexual experiences.
GREGORY: I’ve kept track of other things. I always liked having notebooks and keeping records.
AMANDA: I’d really like to hear what my record-keeping husband used to occupy his time with.
GREGORY: All kinds of things when I was a boy.
AMANDA: You have annotated lists of the times you masturbated?
GREGORY: My notebooks weren’t for that. I had other interests when I was young.
AMANDA: I’m waiting to hear for what, then.
GREGORY: Things like the makes and models and colours of the cars that would pass in front of my house… Sports statistics… For years I kept track of everything I wore and ate, day by day… Sometimes I would fill up notebooks with numbers, just to see how high I could count.
AMANDA: Why did you keep track of all those things?
GREGORY: I don’t know. I guess it helped me to pass the time.
AMANDA: Without playing psychiatrist, I think the reasons are more profound than that.
GREGORY: Are you insinuating I’m insane or something?
AMANDA: I’m not insinuating anything. I’m saying that you have a deep psychological need to keep track of things. Why, I don’t know.
GREGORY: In a way, I suppose, my notebooks help me keep my life under control. I spent too much time alone when I was young. I guess I just got used to keeping notebooks.
AMANDA: Where are those notebooks now? (She looks toward the bookcase) You have them hidden? Concealed?
GREGORY: I have them stored away. In boxes.
AMANDA: Hidden away, you mean.
GREGORY: No. Stored away in a space I rent.
AMANDA: You never threw away any of your notebooks?
GREGORY: Why should I have?
AMANDA: Because your notebooks indicate a problem with compulsive, obsessive behaviour, and you should make an effort to deal with it.
GREGORY: My behaviour is not compulsive or obsessive.
AMANDA: I don’t really know you, do I?
GREGORY: You know me inside out, up and down—
AMANDA: Upside down, topsy-turvy is more like it.
GREGORY: How can you say that? We have a good marriage.
AMANDA: You’ve created your version of a good marriage. In your notebooks.
GREGORY: Nonsense.
AMANDA: What else do you have hidden away?
GREGORY: I am completely open with you. More open than you are with me.
AMANDA: (Holding up the notebook she has) Given the nature of the evidence, that is absurd to say.
GREGORY: You didn’t tell me right away when you came home that you’d been tempted to have an affair at your conference.
AMANDA: For God’s sake, I told you this morning, less than a day after I got back. Your sex diaries represent three years, eight months of secrets and concealment.
GREGORY: How do I know that you haven’t been tempted at work dozens of times? How do I know that you haven’t been more than tempted?
AMANDA: You don’t know.
GREGORY: See, you’ve been less than open with me.
AMANDA: Nothing compared to your pornographic sex diaries.
GREGORY: You don’t understand what I wrote.
AMANDA: I understand that you won’t admit to yourself or to me that your diaries deal more with imagination than reality.
GREGORY: All I do is honestly describe our lovemaking…our beautiful lovemaking.
AMANDA: You’re twisting things out of all recognizable shape. You’ve created your own imaginary marriage.
GREGORY: What I write about is not imaginary. It’s as real as this conversation.
AMANDA: (Ripping out a sheet from Volume Four) This torn page is real, not what you write.
GREGORY: Don’t ruin my diary.
AMANDA: I want you to destroy all of your diaries.
GREGORY: If you tear another page, I’ll…
AMANDA: You’ll what?
GREGORY: (Extending his right hand for the fourth notebook) I’m not a violent person.
AMANDA: No one is accusing you of being violent.
GREGORY: Give me back my diary.
AMANDA: You don’t need this diary.
GREGORY: (His hand still extended) I want to do the entry for number 500, if you’ll allow me. Then we can go and have a pleasant brunch together.
(Amanda makes a threatening gesture to throw Volume Four at Gregory.)
(Gregory lowers his hand) When you give it some thought, you have to admit that five hundred is quite a milestone, sweetheart. Nothing to sneeze at.
AMANDA: I’d like to sneeze all over it.
GREGORY: Don’t talk that way.
AMANDA: You’re not hearing what I’m saying. We’re not talking about numbers. We’re talking about our marriage.
GREGORY: Give me the diary.
AMANDA: (She shoves the fourth volume into Gregory‘s stomach) Have your precious diary, dear.
GREGORY: (Attempting to act as though he had not almost dropped the notebooks because of the force of Amanda’s exchange) Thank you, that’s better.
AMANDA: (Makes a fist and shakes it at Gregory. Then she pounds her fist down on the desk, and he trembles at her action. She starts to bring her fist down on the desk again, but stops herself) No, pounding my fist until I break my hand won’t accomplish anything.
GREGORY: Now you’re being sensible.
AMANDA: Yes, that’s what I am…a sensible woman.
GREGORY: We should have a good laugh over all this later. At brunch. Brunch now and dinner in the evening. We’ll go out to eat twice today, in celebration.
AMANDA: (Bends down and picks up a pen and sheet of stationery from the floor) But I feel with all my heart like pounding my fist until the desk splinters into pieces. Isn’t that horribly unladylike of me?
GREGORY: Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll tidy up later.
AMANDA: (Standing up, and at the desk writing a name and several sentences on the sheet of stationery) This is the finest stationery they had. Such a lovely job of embossing your name and address.
GREGORY: I genuinely love that gift. I know I don’t write all that many letters, but when I do, my most important correspondence is written on that stationery.
(Amanda finds an envelope on the desk and inserts what she has written in it; seals the envelope, spitting on as much as licking the flap.)
GREGORY: After brunch, we could go back to bed, Amanda, if you’re in the mood. I’ll take my time again.
AMANDA: Not until you throw away those obscene diaries of yours.
GREGORY: They mean too much to me.
AMANDA: (Holding the letter) Destroy those diaries, please, Gregory.
GREGORY: I consider them a historical record.
AMANDA: A history that you made up. A husband and wife, for whatever reasons, that you created.
GREGORY: That’s not true.
AMANDA: Are you satisfied with our marriage?
GREGORY: I cherish our marriage.
AMANDA: Then why do you keep those diaries?
GREGORY: They’re about our love. They enhance our marriage.
AMANDA: (Shaking her head in exasperation) I don’t know who you are.
GREGORY: I’m your husband.
AMANDA: (Pointing the letter at Gregory) I thought I knew you.
GREGORY: (Suspiciously eyeing the letter in Amanda’s hand) What did you write?
AMANDA: A letter…an important letter. Something I should have shared with you the minute I came back from the conference.
GREGORY: (While holding on to his four notebooks, he reaches for the envelope from Amanda, but she withholds it from him) Aren’t you going to let me see the letter?
AMANDA: You won’t get rid of your diaries?
GREGORY: Stop asking me to. They’re my personal, heartfelt diaries. Why can’t you understand that?
AMANDA: (Holding the letter tightly) You’ll get this letter when you get rid of your diaries.
GREGORY: You didn’t write anything important. My diaries are important. More important than any letter.
AMANDA: I wrote down the name of the man I was attracted to, along with a brief account of what I did at the conference.
GREGORY: Show me.
AMANDA: I need my secrets also.
GREGORY: You told me you were only tempted.
AMANDA: I might have given in to temptation. I was gone for five days.
GREGORY: Why didn’t you tell me his name earlier?
AMANDA: I wanted to spare your feelings.
GREGORY: That’s the same reason I never showed you the diaries.
AMANDA: The diaries involve me personally. What happened at the conference, at night, didn’t involve you.
GREGORY: Why are you making this up?
AMANDA: You can’t imagine the guilt I felt, but you’ve given me the strength to be truthful.
GREGORY: You are definitely making this up.
AMANDA: Why would I do such a thing?
GREGORY: Because you don’t like my diaries.
AMANDA: That’s why I wrote down the truth.
GREGORY: You write down lies.
AMANDA: We’ve been hiding too many things from each other.
GREGORY: No we haven’t. (Looking at Amanda’s hand) Give me the letter.
AMANDA: When you come to your senses about the diaries.
GREGORY: You made everything up about that man.
AMANDA: It’s what’s described in your diaries that’s made up, not the man I met.
GREGORY: You’re lying.
AMANDA: You’re going to have to take my word for it.
GREGORY: I won’t. I know you’re lying.
AMANDA: You can have the letter after you get rid of the diaries. Maybe then we can get our marriage in order.
GREGORY: There’s nothing wrong with our marriage.
AMANDA: We still have a chance.
GREGORY: (Sits down at his desk, and places the four notebooks in front of him. He opens Volume Four and stares at a blank page) I need to write in my diary.
AMANDA: The truth?
GREGORY: I have to describe the five hundredth time.
AMANDA: You don’t have to write about the sex life of some imaginary couple.
GREGORY: About us.
AMANDA: I won’t give you the letter as long as you keep making things up in your diary.
GREGORY: I have to write in my diary.
AMANDA: We have to discuss our marriage.
GREGORY: (Pressing Volume Four against his chest) If I don’t write in my diary, I’ll lose track of my life.
AMANDA: You already have.
GREGORY: After I write, then we can talk.
AMANDA: Why didn’t I see this before?
GREGORY: I’ll write in my diary, and everything will be fine.
AMANDA: You don’t really believe that.
GREGORY: (Puts Volume Four, open to two blank pages, down on his desk and begins smoothing the pages out repeatedly with his fingers) One day, you’ll understand why I have to keep my diaries.
AMANDA: I’m afraid I already understand. (She compassionately touches Gregory‘s forehead, but he barely notices) Keep your diaries, but write about us.
GREGORY: (Still smoothing out the diary pages) I’ll try. Believe me, I’ll try.
AMANDA: For both our sakes, I hope you can.
GREGORY: Give me a little time alone, sweetheart. I just have to write down a few notes. You know how my memory is.
AMANDA: I don’t know if I should leave you alone.
GREGORY: I promise I won’t take too long.
AMANDA: (Looking back at Gregory as she walks toward the study door) We mustn’t pretend there’s nothing wrong. (She leaves the study.)
(Gregory continues to smooth out the diary pages, unable to write anything.)
AMANDA: (From off stage) Hurry up, or we’ll miss brunch. We have so much to talk over.
GREGORY: (As he starts to write in his diary) I’ll be down, as soon as I finish what I’m writing.
AMANDA: (From off stage) I hope to God it’s the truth about us…the truth.
GREGORY: (Writing with determination) Truth is very important to me. As important as love. That’s why I keep my diaries, sweetheart. That’s why I have to keep them.
CURTAIN
J.J. Steinfeld is a Canadian fiction writer, poet, and playwright living on Prince Edward Island (Epekwitk). He has published 25 books, including: An Unauthorized Biography of Being; Absurdity, Woe Is Me, Glory Be; A Visit to the Kafka Café; Gregor Samsa Was Never in The Beatles; Morning Bafflement and Timeless Puzzlement; Somewhat Absurd, Somehow Existential; Acting on the Island; As You Continue to Wait; and My Post-Holocaust Second Generation Voice: History / Memory / Identity. Over 60 of his one-act plays have been performed in Canada and the United States, including The Waiting Ends, The Entrance-or-Not Barroom, Freesias in Whiskey, Back to Back, No End in Sight, Flowers for the Vases, Sea Monsters, More Than Money, Imaginative Drinking, A Play of Disbelief, Memory Sounds, and In a Washroom of a Prestigious Art Gallery. J.J. has also had several full-length plays performed—The Franz Kafka Therapy Session, The Golden Age of Monsters, and A Television-Watching Artist—as well as the audio plays, In Becky’s Name, A New Map, The Professor’s Ashes, Diogenes’ Lantern, and Laugh for Sanity.
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