Etiquette and Vitriol Nicky Silver (i can read book club txt) 📖

go on.

BISHOP: Don’t be negative.

PHYLLIS (Mary Richards): The lean-to is a pigsty.

BISHOP: Don’t whine.

PHYLLIS: Was it a boy or a girl?

BISHOP: Boy.

PHYLLIS: Was he cute?

BISHOP: I didn’t notice.

PHYLLIS: He cried on the plane.

BISHOP: You can’t remember that.

PHYLLIS: I do.

BISHOP: It was months ago.

PHYLLIS: Was it?

BISHOP: Or years.

PHYLLIS: But I remember. He cried on the plane. I guess the air pressure bothered him, made his ears pop.

BISHOP: Don’t think about it.

PHYLLIS: He cried and cried and his mother tried to get him to stop but she couldn’t. And I kept thinking they should just put him in the overhead baggage compartment.

BISHOP: You don’t remember it. You think you do.

PHYLLIS: And now you’re eating him. It.

BISHOP: It’s good.

PHYLLIS: Is it?

BISHOP: Tender. You want some?

PHYLLIS: No thanks. I have a leg.

BISHOP: Baby’s better.

PHYLLIS: Would you know it if I lost my mind?

BISHOP: I’d know it.

PHYLLIS: I think I’ve lost my mind.

BISHOP: You haven’t. You were always queer.

PHYLLIS: But my hands look unfamiliar to me.

BISHOP: You need a manicure.

PHYLLIS: True. But it’s more than that.

BISHOP: Let me see.

(She shows him her hands.)

They’re your hands. That’s them.

PHYLLIS: What if you lost your mind, too? What if we’re two loons, nutty as fruitcakes and there’s no one else around as a sanity barometer.

BISHOP: I haven’t.

PHYLLIS: I can’t hear you stutter anymore.

BISHOP: I don’t stutter anymore.

PHYLLIS: You don’t?

BISHOP: No.

PHYLLIS: When did that happen?

BISHOP: Months ago.

PHYLLIS: I didn’t hear it go away.

BISHOP: It was gradual.

PHYLLIS (After a long pause): I see things. I look up at the sky and the clouds arrange themselves into hot-air balloons. Beautiful balloons, all different colors, like a box of crayons. And they block the sun. And I’m in one, and I fly away.

BISHOP (Sadistic): Katharine Hepburn played—

PHYLLIS (Terrified): No.

BISHOP: A hot-air balloonist—

PHYLLIS: No, no. Please—

BISHOP: In Olly Olly Oxenfree!

PHYLLIS: No!

BISHOP: She did her own stunts!

PHYLLIS: I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear about it!

BISHOP: She flew the balloon herself!

PHYLLIS: NO! NO! NO MORE ABOUT HER!

BISHOP: It was directed by Richard Colla!!

PHYLLIS: PLEASE, BISHOP, PLEASE!

BISHOP: IT WAS NEVER RELEASED!!

PHYLLIS: STOP IT STOP IT!!

BISHOP: IT WAS SOLD DIRECTLY TO HBO!!

PHYLLIS: I AM YOUR MOTHER!!

BISHOP: SO WHAT?

PHYLLIS: I FORBID IT!

BISHOP: Forbid what?

PHYLLIS: PLEASE!!

BISHOP: What do you forbid? WHAT?

PHYLLIS: LEAVE ME ALONE!

BISHOP: SAY IT!

PHYLLIS: No, don’t make me!

BISHOP: SAY! IT!!

PHYLLIS: YOU MAY NOT—

BISHOP: I MAY NOT?!

PHYLLIS: MAY NOT MENTION—

BISHOP: WHO?!

PHYLLIS: HER!!

BISHOP: WHO!!?

PHYLLIS: YOU KNOW WHO!

BISHOP: Who do you mean? I’m not sure I understand.

PHYLLIS: YOU KNOW WHO I MEAN!!

BISHOP: SAY IT!! SAY IT!! GODDAMN YOU!!

PHYLLIS (In a wild frenzy, she tries to begin the play again): Iloathethebeach.IamPhyllisHoganandIdosoloathethebeach. Itistheverydefinitionofmonotony.Justsandandwaterandsand andwaterandmoresandandmorewater.Andlookaperfectly goodpairofshoes.SusanBennis/WarrenEdwardscrocodile andcompletelyruinedI’veneverunder—

BISHOP: SAY IT!

PHYLLIS: Iloathethe beach/Iloathethe beach/Iloathethe beach—

BISHOP: WHO CAN’T I MENTION!! WHO! SAY IT!!

PHYLLIS: KATHARINE HEPBURN!!!!

BISHOP: WHO!!!??

PHYLLIS: KATHARINE HEPBURN! KATHARINE HEPBURN!! KA-THA-RINE-HEP-BURN!! THERE! I FORBID YOU!! I FORBID IT! YOU WILL NOT SAY HER NAME AGAIN!!!

BISHOP: Who, Mother?

PHYLLIS: KA! THA! RINE! HEP! BURN! KATHARINEHEP-

BURN!!

BISHOP: HA HA HA HAAAA!

PHYLLIS: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I— I (She rushes off stage)

BISHOP: It’s so easy to get under her skin.

(Bishop sits and eats “the baby.” Pam enters, followed by Howard. She takes a pill.)

HOWARD: I wish you’d stop.

PAM: I wish I was the Queen of France.

HOWARD: I thought, if you were happy, you would stop.

PAM: If I were to stop, I wouldn’t be happy.

HOWARD: Aren’t you happy?

PAM: Yes. No.

HOWARD: Don’t I make you happy?

PAM: It’s not that simple.

HOWARD: Of course it is.

PAM: Leave me alone.

HOWARD: I want you to stop taking pills.

PAM: You’re not my father.

HOWARD: Please.

PAM: What do you care?

HOWARD: I don’t know, maybe it’s me. But I’d just as soon not have you shriek in the night that your feet are gone and the walls are laughing at you.

PAM: My feet were laughing at me and the walls flew away. You are so self-absorbed.

HOWARD: I’d rather not have to worry, when we go through customs, that they’ll find LSD in your Harper’s Bazaar.

PAM: Well they didn’t, did they?

HOWARD: That isn’t the point.

PAM: No. The point is, it was House and Garden.

HOWARD: How can that be the point?

PAM: It is. It is exactly the point. Because you’re so wrapped up in yourself you don’t even know if I’m smuggling stuff in Harper’s Bazaar or House and Garden when the two magazines are completely different. They have absolutely nothing in common.

HOWARD (Out): They’re both magazines.

PAM: Have you ever read Harper’s Bazaar? I don’t think so. I don’t think you could have or you couldn’t confuse it with House and Garden. House and Garden is just pictures of rich people’s homes and decorating ideas. Harper’s Bazaar is fashion and gossip and much trendier. But it doesn’t relate to you, so you wouldn’t know that.

HOWARD: What’s that got to do with your drug problem?

PAM: I don’t have a drug problem.

HOWARD: I think you do.

PAM: It’s strictly recreational.

HOWARD: You are continually stoned.

PAM: I have a lot of free time.

HOWARD: What do you want?

PAM: Marry me.

HOWARD: Stop and I’ll marry you.

PAM: Marry me and I’ll stop.

HOWARD: You go first.

PAM: You go first.

HOWARD: You go first.

PAM: You go first.

HOWARD: You go first.

PAM: They’re not coming back.

HOWARD: I don’t want to talk about it.

PAM: It’s been three years.

HOWARD: Let’s go to bed.

PAM: They’re dead, Howard. They are.

HOWARD: You don’t understand.

PAM: Marry me, Howard.

HOWARD: No.

PAM: I think we should separate.

HOWARD: Maybe you’re right.

PAM: I think maybe it’s time.

HOWARD: I think maybe we should.

PAM: I think you should move out.

HOWARD: I think maybe I ought to.

PAM: I think that would be best.

HOWARD: I think maybe you’re right.

(They embrace. Bishop walks down center. He addresses the audience. He is now a frightening, feral beast, rhythmic, ruthless and savage in his manner.)

BISHOP: My body is like this building, that I’m building one brick at a time. One brick at a fucking time. There is life on the island. The monkeys have come outta the trees. There are maggots on the rotting branches and a fistful makes lunch. There are birds in the sky and I can hit them with rocks and we eat them. I’m not afraid of the animals. They’re