Ideal (15 page)

MRS. PERKINS
: Well, if it's culture you want, didn't I subscribe to the Book-of-the-Month Club?

PERKINS
: Oh, I know I can't explain it! All I ask is, don't let's have that baby, Rosie. That would be the end of it all for me. I'll be an old man, if I give those things up. I don't want to be old. Not yet. God, not yet! Just leave me a few years, Rosie!

MRS. PERKINS
: [
Breaking down into tears
] Never, never, never did I think I'd live to hear this!

MRS. SHLY
: [
Rushing to her
] Rosie, sweetheart! Don't cry like that,
baby! [
Whirling upon
PERKINS
] See what you've done? Now, don't let me hear another word out of that filthy mouth of yours! Do you want to kill your wife? Take the Chinese, for instance. They go in for abortions, that's why all the Chinks have rickets.

PERKIN
S
: Now, Mother, who ever told you that?

MRS. SHLY
: Well, I suppose I don't know what I'm talking about? I suppose the big businessman is the only one to tell us what's what?

PERKINS
: I didn't mean . . . I only meant that . . .

M
RS. PERKINS
: [
Through her sobs
] You leave Mama alone, George.

PERKINS
: [
Desperately
] But I didn't . . .

MRS. SHLY
: I understand. I understand perfectly, George Perkins. An old mother, these days, is no good for anything but to shut up and wait for the graveyard!

PERKINS
: [
Resolutely
] Mother, I wish you'd stop trying to . . . [
Bravely
] . . . to make trouble.

MRS. SHLY
: So? So that's it? So I'm making trouble? So I'm a burden to you, am I? Well, I'm glad you came out with it, Mr. Perkins! And here I've been, poor fool that I am, slaving in this house like if it was my own! That's the gratitude I get. Well, I won't stand for it another minute. Not one minute. [
Rushes out Left, slamming the door
]

M
RS. PERKINS
: [
With consternation
] George! . . . George, if you don't apologize, Mama will leave us!

PERKINS
: [
With sudden, desperate courage
] Well, let her go.

MRS. PERKINS
: [
Stares at him incredulously, then
:] So it's come to that? So that's what it does to you, your big promotion? Coming home, picking a fight with everybody, throwing his wife's old mother out into the gutter! If you think I'm going to stand for . . .

PERKINS
: Listen, I've stood about as much of her as I'm going to stand. She'd better go. It was coming to this, sooner or later.

MRS
. PERKINS
: You just listen to me, George Perkins! If you don't
apologize to Mama, if you don't apologize to her before tomorrow morning, I'll never speak to you again as long as I live!

PERKINS
: [
Wearily
] How many times have I heard that before?

[
MRS. PERKINS
runs to door Left and exits, slamming the door.
PERKINS
sits wearily, without moving. An old-fashioned clock strikes nine. He rises slowly, turns out the lights, pulls the shade down over the glass entrance door. The room is dim but for one lamp burning by the fireplace. He leans against the mantelpiece, his head on his arm, slumped wearily. The doorbell rings. It is a quick, nervous, somehow furtive sound.
PERKINS
starts, looks at the entrance door, surprised, hesitates, then crosses to door and opens it. Before we can see the visitor, his voice a stunned explosion
:]
Oh, my God!! [
PERKINS
steps aside.
KAY
GONDA
stands on the threshold. She wears an exquisitely plain black suit, very modern, austerely severe; a black hat, black shoes, stockings, bag, and gloves. The sole and startling contrast to her clothes is the pale, luminous gold of her hair and the whiteness of her face. It is a strange face with eyes that make one uncomfortable. She is tall and very slender. Her movements are slow, her steps light, soundless. There is a feeling of unreality about her, the feeling of a being that does not belong on this earth. She looks more like a ghost than a woman
]

KAY GONDA
: Please keep quiet. And let me in.

PE
RKINS
: [
Stuttering foolishly
] You . . . you are . . .

KAY GONDA
: Kay Gonda. [
She enters and closes the door behind her
]

PERKINS
: W-why . . .

KAY GONDA
: Are you George Perkins?

PERK
INS
: [
Foolishly
] Yes, ma'am. George Perkins. George S. Perkins . . . Only how . . .

KAY GONDA
: I am in trouble. Have you heard about it?

PERK
INS
: Y-yes . . . oh, my God! . . . Yes . . .

KAY GONDA
: I have to hide. For the night. It is dangerous. Can you let me stay here?

PERKIN
S
:
Here?

KAY GONDA
: Yes. For one night.

PERKINS
: But how . . . That is . . . Why did you . . .

KAY GONDA
: [
Opens her bag and shows him the letter
] I read your letter. And I thought that no one would look for me here. And I thought you would want to help me.

PERKINS
: I . . . Miss Gonda, you'll excuse me, please, you know it's enough to make a fellow . . . I mean, if I don't seem to make sense or . . . I mean, if you need help, you can stay here the rest of your life, Miss Gonda.

K
AY GONDA
: [
Calmly
] Thank you. [
She throws her bag on a table, takes off her hat and gloves, indifferently, as if she were quite at home. He keeps staring at her
]

PERKINS
: You mean . . . they're really after you?

KAY GONDA
: The police. [
Adds
] For murder.

PERKINS
: I won't let them get you. If there's anything I can . . . [
He stops short. Steps are heard approaching, behind the door Left
]

MRS. PERKINS' VOICE
: [
Offstage
] George!

PERKINS
: Yes . . . dovey?

MRS. PERK
INS' VOICE
: Who was that who rang the bell?

PERKINS
: No . . . no one, dovey. Somebody had the wrong address. [
He listens to the steps moving away, then whispers
:] That was my wife. We'd better keep quiet. She's all right. Only . . . she wouldn't understand.

KAY GONDA
: It will be dangerous for you, if they find me here.

PERKINS
: I don't care. [
She smiles slowly. He points to the room helplessly
] Just make yourself at home. You can sleep right here, on the davenport, and I'll stay outside and watch to see that no one . . .

KAY GONDA
: No. I don't want to sleep. Stay here. You and I, we have so much to talk about.

PERKINS
: Oh, yes. Sure . . . that is . . . about what, Miss Gonda?

[
She sits down without answering. He sits down on the edge of a chair, gathering his bathrobe, miserably uncomfortable. She looks at him expectantly, a silent question in her eyes. He blinks, clears his throat, says resolutely
:
]

Pretty cold night, this is.

KAY GONDA
: Yes.

PERKINS
: That's California for you . . . the Golden West . . . Sunshine all day, but cold as the . . . but very cold at night.

K
AY GONDA
: Give me a cigarette.

[
He leaps to his feet, produces a package of cigarettes, strikes three matches before he can light one. She leans back, the lit cigarette between her fingers
]

PERKINS
: [
He mutters helplessly
] I . . . I smoke this kind. Easier on your throat, they are. [
He looks at her miserably. He has so much to tell her. He fumbles for words. He ends with
:] Now, Joe Tucker—that's a friend of mine—Joe Tucker, he smokes cigars. But I never took to them, never did.

KAY GONDA
: You have many friends?

PERKINS
: Yes, sure. Sure I have. Can't complain.

KAY GONDA
: You like them?

PERK
INS
: Yes, I like them fine.

KAY GONDA
: And they like you? They approve of you, and they bow to you on the street?

PERKIN
S
: Why . . . I guess so.

KAY GONDA
: How old are you, George Perkins?

PERKINS
: I'll be forty-three this coming June.

KAY GONDA
: It will be hard to lose your job and to find yourself in the street. In a dark, lonely street, where you'll see your friends passing by and looking past you, as if you did not exist. Where you will want to scream and tell them of the great things you know, but no one will hear and no one will answer. It will be hard, won't it?

PERKINS
: [
Bewildered
] Why . . . When should that happen?

KAY GONDA
: [
Calmly
] When they find me here.

PERKINS
: [
Resolutely
] Don't worry about that. No one will find you here. Not that I'm afraid for myself. Suppose they learn I helped you? Who wouldn't? Who'd hold that against me? Why should they?

KAY GOND
A
: Because they hate me. And they hate all those who take my side.

PERKINS
: Why should they hate you?

KAY GONDA
: [
Calmly
] I am a murderess, George Perkins.

PERKINS
: Well, if you ask me, I don't believe it. I don't even want to ask you whether you've done it. I just don't believe it.

KAY GONDA
: If you mean Granton Sayers . . . No, I do not want to speak about Granton Sayers. Forget that. But I am still a murderess. You see, I came here and, perhaps, I will destroy your life—everything that has been your life for forty-three years.

PERKINS
: [
In a low voice
] That's not much, Miss Gonda.

KAY GON
DA
: Do you always go to see my pictures?

PERKINS
: Always.

KAY GOND
A
: Are you happy when you come out of the theater?

PERKINS
: Yes. Sure. . . . No, I guess I'm not. That's funny, I never thought of it that way. . . . Miss Gonda, you won't laugh at me if I tell you something?

KAY GONDA
: Of course not.

PERKINS
: Miss Gonda, I . . . I cry when I come home after seeing a picture of yours. I just lock myself in the bathroom and I cry, every time. I don't know why.

KAY GONDA
: I knew that.

PERK
INS
: How?

KAY GONDA
: I told you I am a murderess. I kill so many things in people. I kill the things they live by. But they come to see me because I am the only one who makes them realize that they want those things to be killed. Or they think they do. And it's their whole pride, that they think and say they do.

PERKIN
S
: I'm afraid I don't follow you, Miss Gonda.

KAY GONDA
: You'll understand someday.

PERKINS
: Did you really do it?

KAY GONDA
: What?

PERKINS
: Did you kill Granton Sayers? [
She looks at him, smiles slowly, shrugs
] I was only wondering why you could have done it.

KAY GONDA
: Because I could not stand it any longer. There are times when one can't stand it any longer.

PERKINS
: Yes. There are.

KAY GON
DA
: [
Looking straight at him
] Why do you want to help me?

PERKINS
: I don't know . . . only that . . .

KAY GON
DA
: Your letter, it said . . .

PERKINS
: Oh! I never thought you'd read the silly thing.

KAY GONDA
: It was not silly.

PERKINS
: I bet you have plenty of them, fans, I mean, and letters.

KAY GONDA
: I like to think that I mean something to people.

PERKINS
: You must forgive me if I said anything fresh, you know, or personal.

KAY GONDA
: You said you were not happy.

PERKINS
: I . . . I didn't mean to complain, Miss Gonda, only . . . I guess I've missed something along the way. I don't know what it is, but I know I've missed it. Only I don't know why.

KAY GONDA
: Perhaps it is because you wanted to miss it.

PERKINS
: No. [
His voice is suddenly firm
] No. [
He rises and stands looking straight at her
] You see, I'm not unhappy at all. In fact, I'm a very happy man—as happiness goes. Only there's something in me that knows of a life I've never lived, the kind of life no one has ever lived, but should.

KAY GOND
A
: You know it? Why don't you live it?