CHARACTERS:
CRICK: Charming, fragile, and child-like.
MARY: Keeps her journal locked.
RED: She’s no cowgirl, she’s a cowboy.
Note: Red talks slow. Crick talks fast. Mary’s somewhere in the middle. Crick, Mary and Red need not be any particular race or ethnicity.
PLACE:
A version of Pittsburgh.
A silhouette of a messy kitchen.
An image of the Marlboro Man hovers in the distance against blue light.
This play is for all the lady cowboys of heart and mind who ride outside the city limits of convention. Special thanks to Paula and Anne. And Peggy Munson.
Part 1
1. You’re late.
A man—Crick--sits among dirty dishes.
A woman—Mary--steps in the door.
CRICK:
You’re late.
MARY:
I know, I’m sorry.
CRICK:
Where were you?
MARY:
I ran into an old friend on the street.
CRICK:
There’s some food on the stove.
MARY:
You cooked! Thanks.
CRICK:
I love you, sugarplum.
They kiss.
MARY:
I love you too. Smells good. What is it?
CRICK:
Beef. Who’d you run into?
MARY:
That girl we went to school with who always wore a money clip instead of carrying a purse.
CRICK:
Oh, her. What’s her name?
MARY:
I haven’t seen her in years.
CRICK:
I didn’t know you and her were friends.
MARY:
Red. Red is her name.
CRICK:
That’s right. Red.
MARY:
What’s wrong with Red? I like her.
CRICK:
She used to make jokes all the time that weren’t funny.
MARY:
I think she’s funny.
CRICK:
Maybe I have a better sense of humor than you do.
Just kidding.
What did you do with—“Red”?
MARY:
Had some coffee.
CRICK:
Where?
MARY:
What does it matter?
CRICK:
I want to be able to imagine your day—every moment—like a beautiful detailed painting—the sort a Russian might paint on a hollow egg.
MARY:
I don’t think any Russians are interested in painting my life.
CRICK:
Where’d you get coffee?
MARY:
Green Shutters.
CRICK:
You took her there?
A pause.
MARY:
What’s wrong with Green Shutters?
CRICK:
You got coffee at a Chinese restaurant?
MARY:
There are no other restaurants on that block.
CRICK:
That’s where we go.
MARY:
I told you—there are no other restaurants—
CRICK:
You were supposed to be home for dinner.
MARY:
I know. I’m sorry. I should have called. Thanks for cooking.
She eats her food.
CRICK:
I have a headache.
MARY:
Oh—you do? I’m sorry. The one you get right there?
CRICK:
Yes.
MARY:
Do you want me to rub your head?
CRICK:
Sure. Thanks.
She starts rubbing his head.
CRICK:
Do you have any money?
MARY:
Why?
CRICK:
Can’t you just answer the question—simply and elegantly—yes or no—in the same manner in which it was asked?
MARY:
I have a little money.
CRICK:
Can I have some?
MARY:
What for?
CRICK:
I just need it. Do you not trust me?
MARY:
Of course I trust you.
She stops rubbing his head.
CRICK:
Aw--why’d you stop?
MARY:
Sorry.
CRICK:
So you’ll give me the money.
MARY:
I just want to know what it’s for.
CRICK:
It’s a surprise.
MARY:
How much?
CRICK:
Five hundred dollars.
MARY:
Jesus.
CRICK:
You don’t have five hundred dollars? I thought you were an heiress.
MARY:
I’m not an heiress.
CRICK:
You’re more of an heiress than me.
MARY:
That’s true. Most people are more of an heiress than you. They—like—inherit money from their jobs. Like a paycheck.
CRICK:
Look—fuck you.
MARY:
I don’t like your language.
CRICK:
In a just society people with more money give money to people with less money. I know you agree with that.
MARY:
Yes—I do.
CRICK:
If I had more money than you I’d give my money to you.
MARY:
But you never do have more money than me.
CRICK:
But I could.
MARY:
Yes. You could. But you don’t.
CRICK:
You want to tally it up? See who’s spent more on who? In the mind of God, who do you think has spent more money on who? Me or you?
MARY:
Me.
CRICK:
You think God cares? It’s just money. It’s not your soul. Money is meant to be spent.
MARY:
Right.
CRICK:
And I know you have five hundred dollars. Just sitting there. Doing nothing. Your soul should just sit there. Doing nothing. Not your money.
MARY:
I’ll write you a check.
CRICK:
Thanks.
MARY:
It’s my whole savings.
CRICK:
Don’t worry, honey. I’ll give it back to you. I’m just going borrow it.
How is whatserface, anyway?
MARY:
Red?
CRICK:
Yeah, Red. What kind of name is Red, anyway. Who does she think she is, the Marlboro Man?
MARY:
She is, kind of. Red’s a cowboy.
CRICK:
Oh, yeah right--a cowboy in Pittsburgh.
MARY:
She is—she wears a cowboy hat. She wore a big hat into the Green Shutters. It was kind of funny. People looked at her and she just tipped her hat. She does things to saddles and harnesses. She rides things. She can make a horse fall asleep—she sings horse lullabies for a job. She gets paid for it. She says it’s beautiful, when a horse falls asleep. She says it’s like if God fell asleep. Because God would sleep standing up—just in case he had to wake up—to take care of anything.
CRICK:
It’s cows that fall asleep standing up. Not horses.
MARY:
Oh—I thought she said horses.
CRICK:
Cows. Horses only fall asleep if they have to—if they’re put in stalls. They should roam free. Don’t you think.
MARY:
It’s nicer to think of horses falling asleep. I don’t like to think of a cow falling asleep. It’s not as pretty. Why is a cow not as pretty as a horse.
CRICK:
People in India think cows are beautiful. They put cows in their art.
MARY:
I don’t know about that.
CRICK:
What’d you talk about—you and Red?
MARY:
I told you—horses falling asleep.
CRICK:
Did she make a pass at you?
MARY:
Yeah—I fucked her.
No, she didn’t make a pass at me.
Jesus.
CRICK:
What’s wrong with you? Using language like that?
MARY:
I’m going to my mother’s house.
CRICK:
You haven’t eaten your dinner.
MARY:
I’m not hungry.
CRICK:
Why not? Hey—did you eat dinner with her at the Green Shutters?
MARY:
No.
CRICK:
The coffee—filled you up—all by itself?
MARY:
Yes.
CRICK:
Never known you to be satisfied by cream and sugar.
MARY:
I didn’t have cream or sugar in my coffee.
CRICK:
Oh, you took it cowboy style. That’s your new way, huh, tough girl?
MARY:
Yeah. That’s right. I don’t like your tone of voice. I’m going to see my mother.
CRICK:
You didn’t finish your dinner.
MARY:
I’ll eat it later. I want to see my mother.
CRICK:
Tell her I say hello.
MARY:
I will.
Mary turns to go.
CRICK:
Bye.
Crick looks pained.
Mary turns back.
MARY:
I’m sorry.
CRICK:
What for?
MARY:
For being late.
CRICK:
Don’t go to your mother’s. Stay here with me. We’ll make up.
MARY:
What do you mean: we’ll make up?
CRICK:
You know what I mean. We’ll make up. Come here.
Crick pulls Mary to him.
They kiss.
2. Red.
A woman—Red--in a cowboy hat—
leans against a tree and strums a cowboy tune on her guitar.
Stars and moon overhead.
She sings.
RED:
Oh, as the sun sets
the horses do sleep
the fields they are long
and the crick it is deep...
Oh, find me a child
who grows into a man
who cries like a bird
and flies like a--crayon...
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