SCENE: The apartment of Miss Carey, a hardworking modiste about 45 years of age, rather sharp in manner, very prudish and a hater of men.
TIME: About 2 A.M.
When the curtain rises, the stage is dark. First, "feminine snores" are heard, then a sharp ringing of bell. Then MISS CAREY from her bed in next room (curtained off, but partly visible) calls out:
MISS CAREY: Who is it?
VOICE: (Off stage.) It's me. Open!
MISS CAREY: (Poking her night-capped head out of curtains.) Well, who are you?
VOICE: (Off stage.) You don't know me. But that's all right.
Please let me in—hurry! Hurry!
MISS CAREY: (Rising and getting into a kimono.) Well—whoever you are—what do you mean by waking me at two in the morning? I'll report this to the janitor. (She turns up light and opens door. ANGELA MAXWELL rushes in—in fluffy peignoir—her hair in pretty disorder—her hands full of wearing apparel, etc., as if she just snatched same up in haste. An opera coat, a pair of slippers, etc.)
ANGELA: (Rushing in—closing door after her and silencing MISS CAREY by the mysterious way she seizes her by the wrist.) Listen, you don't know me, but I've just left my husband.
MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) Well, that's no reason why I should leave my bed.
ANGELA: (Reassuringly.) You can go right back again, dear—in fact,
I'll go with you and we'll talk it over there.
MISS CAREY: I don't wish to talk it over anywhere, and—
ANGELA: Well, surely, you don't think it was wrong of me to leave
Harry—now do you?
MISS CAREY: I never blame any woman for leaving any man.
ANGELA: See, I knew it. After I fired the Wedgewood vase at him—and just for doing it he was brute enough to call me "Vixen,"— I snatched up as much as I could that was worth taking, and left him forever. (Suddenly, as she sees dress on model.) Oh, what a lovely little frock. (Back to other tone.) Yes, forever; and it was only when I stood out in the cold hall that I realized it would have been better to have left him forever when I was all dressed in the morning. (Beginning to shiver and weep.) Take my advice, dear, if you ever leave your husband, never do it on a cold night.
MISS CAREY: (Sharply.) I'm not married.
ANGELA: (Weeping copiously and shivering.) Well, then, you needn't bother, dear, about the weather, 'cause you never will be married.
MISS CAREY: No, I never will—catch me selling my freedom to any selfish brute of a man.
ANGELA: (As before.) See, I knew it. I said to myself, that little lady on the second floor who makes dresses with a long, thin nose—
MISS CAREY: (Outraged.) Makes dresses with a long, thin nose?
ANGELA: Yes—she's the only one in the whole apartment house I can go to—she's the only one won't give Harry right.
MISS CAREY: No man is ever right.
ANGELA: I'm commencing to believe all men are brutes.
MISS CAREY: Of course they are. (Commencing to thaw.) Have a cup of tea. (She goes to table to prepare tea things.)
ANGELA: Thanks—I brought my own tea with me. (Takes a little paper bag of tea out of one of the slippers and crosses to MISS CAREY.) If I had struck him with the vase, I could understand his calling me "Vixen" (Beginning to weep again.)—but I only flung it at him, 'cause I cracked it by accident in the morning, and I didn't want him to find it out. He was always calling me "butter-fingers." (Sits at opposite side of table.)
MISS CAREY: Oh, he was always calling you names.
ANGELA: No, that's all he ever called me—"Butter-fingers." (Cries again.)
MISS CAREY: (Pouring tea.) Oh, he's the kind that just loves to stay home and nag.
ANGELA: I'd like to catch any husband I ever get, nag.
MISS CAREY: Oh, a pouter—I know that kind.
ANGELA: Oh, no. Why, every time I insulted him he kissed me—the brute. (After a second's pause.) But—excuse me—how do you know so many kinds of men if you've never been married?
MISS CAREY: (Quickly.) Boarders—to make ends meet, I've always had to have a male boarder since I was left an orphan. (She rises—turns her back to audience—gives a touch to her pigtail, during the laugh to this line. This business always builds laugh.)
ANGELA: (Absent-mindedly.) Well, I've heard that male boarders are very nice.
MISS CAREY: I've never had a nice one yet, but I've named nearly all the style male brutes there are. What kind of a brute have you? (She sips tea.)
ANGELA: Why, I don't know—I've often wondered—you might call
Harry a "lollard."
MISS CAREY: A lollard?
ANGELA: Yes, I invented the word, and believe me, a woman suffers with a lollard. (At this, MISS CAREY lets her spoon fall in cup.)
MISS CAREY: I should think she would. How did a sweet young thing like you ever meet such a type of a vertebrate?
ANGELA: At a military ball, and oh Mrs.—
MISS CAREY: Miss Carey.
ANGELA: Miss Carey—he was the handsomest specimen. His hair looked so spick—his shoulders were so big and broad—his teeth so white—and his skin, well, Miss Carey, if you'd seen him, I'll bet you'd have just gone crazy to kiss him yourself. (MISS CAREY, who is drinking tea, nearly chokes on this—coughing on the tea which goes down the wrong way.)
MISS CAREY: (After the business.) How did he lose his looks?
ANGELA: By becoming a lollard. Listen! (They pull chairs in front of table together, teacups in hand.) It happened on the honeymoon— on the train—as we sat hand in hand, when all at once, the wind through the window, started to blow his hair the wrong way, and oh, Miss Carey, what do you think I discovered?
MISS CAREY: He had been branded on the head as a criminal.
ANGELA: Oh nothing so pleasant as that—but the hair that I thought grew so lovely and plentifully, had been coaxed by a wet brush from the back over the front, and from the east over to the west. (Indicates by imitating action on her own head.)
MISS CAREY: Oh, a lollard is a disappointment of the hair.
ANGELA: No, Miss Carey, no. Listen. I said, "Oh, Harry, your hair which I thought grew so evenly and plentifully all over your head really only grows in patches." He only answered, "Yes, and now that we're married, Angela, I don't have to fool you by brushing it fancy anymore." In despair, I moaned "Yes, Harry—fool me—go on love, fool me and brush it fancy."
MISS CAREY; (Rising and crossing R.) That was your first mistake.
No woman should ever call any man "love."
ANGELA: Oh, I didn't know what I said—I was so busy the whole journey pulling his hair from the back to the front and the east to the west (Same business of illustrating.)—and then, oh Miss Carey, what do you think was the next thing I discovered?
MISS CAREY: (In horror.) His teeth only grew in patches.
ANGELA: No, but I had fallen in love with a pair of tailor's shoulder-pads—yes—when he took off his coat that night, he shrunk so, I screamed (Pause—as laugh comes here.)—thinking I was in a room with a strange man—but all he muttered was "Angie, I can loll about in easy things now, I'm married"—and that's how gradually his refined feet began to look like canal-boats—his skin only looked kissable the days he shaved—twice a week—his teeth became tobacco stained—and to-night—to-night, Miss Carey, he stopped wearing hemstitched pajamas and took to wearing canton flannel night shirts. (In depth of woe after the big laugh this gets.) Miss Carey, have you ever seen a man in a canton flannel night shirt?
MISS CAREY: (After an expression of horror.) I told you I am not married.
ANGELA: (Innocently.) Oh, excuse me, I was thinking of your boarders. (MISS CAREY screams "what" and shows herself insulted beyond words.) Is it any wonder my love for him has grown cold? Men expect a woman to primp up for them—we must always look our best to hold their love—but once they wheedle us into signing our names to the marriage contract—they think (Suddenly, seeing dress again.)—Oh Miss Carey, what do you charge for a frock like that?
MISS CAREY: I have no night rates for gowns, Mrs.—
ANGELA: Just call me Angie—'cause I probably will live with you now. (Slips her arm through MISS CAREY'S, laying her head on the older woman's shoulder.)
MISS CAREY: (Disengaging her.) We'll talk that over in the morning— if you want, you may sleep upon that couch—I'll put out the light. (She does so.) I'm going to bed—I must get a little rest. (She gives a sharp turn and goes to her room. Blue light floods stage. Through the half open curtain she is seen having trouble with her bed covers—getting them too high up, then too far down, etc. Big laughs on this business.)
ANGELA: (Taking down hair.) Miss Carey, you said you were an orphan—I'm an orphan, too. (There is no answer.) I can't tell you how I appreciate your insisting on my staying—let me make your breakfast in the morning, Miss Carey. (No answer.) Harry might at least try to find me. Aren't men brutes, Miss Carey?
MISS CAREY: (Loudly from within.) They certainly are.
ANGELA: (Lets peignoir slip off her shoulders, is in pretty silk pajamas.) In the morning, I must think how I can earn my own living. (She lies down as snores come from next room.) Miss Carey, are you asleep? (Snore.) Oh dear, she's asleep before I am—she might have waited. (A key is heard in the door—Angela sits up in alarm—as key turns, she screams.) Oh Miss Carey, wake up—someone's at the door—wake up. (Miss Carey jumps up and out of bed.)
MISS CAREY: Good Lord—what is it now? (Puts up light—the door opens, and immaculately dressed, handsome young man in evening clothes, white gloves, etc., enters—FRED SALTUS.)
ANGELA: Burglars! (She runs behind curtain of MISS CAREY'S room.)
MISS CAREY: You simpleton. I told you I had a male boarder. This is it, Mr. Saltus.
FRED: Oh, Miss Carey, pardon me—I'd have come in by the back door, but I didn't know you were entertaining company.
MISS CAREY: I'm not entertaining anyone—I'm trying to get a little rest before it's time for me to get up—and young lady, if you'll come out of my room and let me in, I'll beg of you not to disturb me again. (She shoves ANGELA out in her pajamas, unintentionally knocking her into MR. SALTUS, and goes back to bed.) (Ad. lib. talk.)
ANGELA: (Embarrassed and rushing behind the frock on the dressmaker's figure.) I've made her awfully cross—but I thought it must be a burglar—'cause, you see, I never knew boarders were allowed out so late at night.
FRED: (Recognizing her.) What are you doing here?
ANGELA: (Forced to confess.) I've left my husband. (He gives a whistle of surprise.) You know he's the man on the floor below—you may have seen me with him—once in a great while.
FRED: I've seen you often (Delighted.)—and so you've left him, eh?
ANGELA: Yes—and I'm really quite upset about it—naturally he's the first husband I've ever left—and you can imagine how a woman feels if you've left your husband—that is your wife. (All in one breath.) Are you married?
FRED: No indeed—not a chance.
ANGELA: (Quickly fishes her opera cloak off couch—slips it over her and goes to couch.) Then come here and sit down. (He does so.) I should think the girls would all be crazy about you.
FRED: Oh—they are—are you boarding here too now?
ANGELA: Yes, but Miss Carey doesn't know it yet.
FRED: Tell me, have you ever noticed me coming in or going out of the building?
ANGELA: Oh yes, indeed—I used to point you out to Harry and show him how you always looked so immaculate and dapper—just as he used to look before we were married. (Starting to weep.)
FRED: Oh, you'll go back to your home to-morrow.
ANGELA: No—I'll never enter it again—never again—except for lunch.
FRED: Then you're planning a divorce?
ANGELA: (As it dawns on her—with a smile.) I suppose it would be well to get something like that.
FRED: Is he in love with another woman?
ANGELA: (Indignantly.) My Harry—I guess not. (His hand is stretched toward her—in anger she slaps it.)
FRED: Then you'll never get it (Making love to her.) unless you fall in love with another man and let your husband get the divorce.
ANGELA: (Innocently.) I think I'd like that better—I'll tell Miss Carey (She approaches curtain—a snore makes her change her mind.)—I'll tell her later.
FRED: I'm awfully glad I'm a fellow boarder here. (He advances to her—as he is about to put his arm about her—suddenly a pounding on door and a gruff voice without:) Open—open!
ANGELA: (In terror.) Oh, it's my husband—it's Harry.
FRED: Don't talk, or he'll hear you.
ANGELA: I'll hide—and you open, or he'll break down the door.
FRED: I'll have nothing to do with this mixup.
HARRY: (Loudly, without.) Open, or I'll bang—down—the—door.
ANGELA: If you don't open, he'll do it—he's a regular "door-banger."
FRED: Well, I'll not.
ANGELA: Then I'll get Miss Carey. (Up to curtains again.) Miss
Carey—Miss Carey—get up.
MISS CAREY: (Sticking her head out of curtains.) My Gawd, what is it now?
ANGELA: (After struggle as to how to explain.) My husband is here to see us.
MISS CAREY: Confound your husband.
HARRY: (Outside.) I want my wife.
ANGELA: (Pleading.) Oh, Miss Carey, the poor man wants his wife— tell him I'm not here.
MISS CAREY: (Jumping up—to FRED.) You go to your room, Mr. Saltus—I'll bet you were afraid to open the door. (FRED goes to his room.) And you go into my bed—if he sees you, I'll never get any sleep.
ANGELA: Don't hurt my Harry's feelings, Miss Carey—he's awfully sensitive. (She goes behind curtains.)
MISS CAREY: No, I won't hurt his feelings—(Opening door fiercely for HARRY.) What do you want?
HARRY: (Pushing her aside as he rushes in.) My wife—she's in here.
MISS CAREY: (Following him down.) She's not here—and you get out—what do you mean by waking me up at this hour?
HARRY: I've waked up everybody else in the building—why should you sleep?
MISS CAREY: I've never seen you before, but now that I have, I don't wonder your wife left you.
HARRY: Madam, you look like a woman who could sympathize with a man.
MISS CAREY: With a man? Never—now get out.
HARRY: (Making a tour of the room—she following.) Not till I've searched your place—my wife must be here.
MISS CAREY: I don't know your wife—and I don't want to.
HARRY: Why, madam—I'm crazy about her—suppose I'm the only man in the world who would be, but she's my doll.
MISS CAREY: Well, you've lost your doll—good night.
HARRY: Oh, I'll get her back again—but a change has seemed to come over her of late, and to-night she broke out in a fury and hit me violently over the head with a Wedgewood vase.
ANGELA: (Rushing out—ready to slap him again.) Oh Harry, I did not—it never touched you.
MISS CAREY: (Throwing up her hands.) Now I'll never get to sleep.
HARRY: (Turning on MISS CAREY.) Oh, I understand it all—it's you who've come between us—you designing, deceitful homebreaker.
MISS CAREY: You leave my apartment—you impertinent man.
HARRY: Not without my wife.
ANGELA: Then you'll stay forever—'cause I'm not going with you.
(She sits right of little table.)
MISS CAREY: See here—you argue this out between you—but I'm going to bed—but don't you argue above a whisper or I'll ring for the police—the idea of you two galavanting about my apartments. (Going behind curtains.)
(A funny scene ensues between husband and wife—they start their argument in whispered pantomime—she shakes her finger at him—he shakes back at her—it finally grows slightly louder and louder until they are yelling at each other.)
ANGELA: (Screaming.) If you say the vase hit you—you're a wicked—
HARRY: I don't care anything about the vase—you're coming downstairs with me. (He pulls her off chair and swings her R.)
ANGELA: (Falling on couch.) I'm not.
HARRY: (Grabbing her again.) You are.
ANGELA: I'm not. (He tries to pull her to door—she bites his finger, and breaking away, runs up to curtains again.) Miss Carey, Miss Carey, wake up, he bit me. (MISS CAREY dashes out in fury, ANGELA hangs to her.) Oh, Miss Carey, you're the only one I have in all the world to keep me from this monster. Oh, Miss Carey, pity me, make believe you're my mother.
MISS CAREY: I told you I'm not married.
ANGELA: Well, think how you'd feel if you were and I were your own little girl and a wicked man was ill-treating me, etc. (She finally touches the mother vein in MISS CAREY.)
MISS CAREY: (Affected.) Go into my room, dear. (She leads her up
to bed behind curtains. After Angela disappears behind curtains,
MISS CAREY turns—facing HARRY.) I'll settle with this viper.
(Coming down.) Aren't you ashamed of yourself?
HARRY: Why should I'be ashamed?
MISS CAREY: (Resolutely.) Because you're a lollard.
HARRY: I'm what?
MISS CAREY: You're one of those vile creatures whose hair grows from east to west. (Dramatically.) Where are your refined feet now? )
HARRY: (Thinking she's mad.) What on earth are you talking about?
MISS CAREY: The man she fell in love with and married was spick and span—his shoulders were big and broad—his teeth were white—and his skin—well, if he were standing before me now, I'd be just crazy to kiss him myself.
HARRY: I was all that you say when I married her—that's how I won her.
MISS CAREY: And now you're not all that I say—that's how you lost her. You can't blame a little woman if she thinks she's getting a man of gold and she finds she's got a gold brick.
HARRY: Why, I'm not different now than I was then—only before I was married I was like all men, I did everything to appear at my best— to fool her.
MISS CAREY: Fool her now—we women love to be fooled. We want to be proud of our husbands. Most of us get gold bricks, but we don't want anyone else to know it.
HARRY: By George, there may be something in all this. How did you come to know it?
MISS CAREY: I'm an old maid, and old maids know more about men than anyone—that's why they stay old maids. What were you wearing the first time you met?
HARRY: (Reminiscently.) A suit of regimentals.
MISS CAREY: (Hurrying up to door.) Quick, go downstairs and put 'em on and come up as quick as you can.
HARRY: (Looks at himself in glass near door.) By George—you're right. Oh, Miss Carey, I am a lollard. (He runs off.)
MISS CAREY: You're a lollard, all right. Now young woman—get your things together and get ready to go—young woman, do you hear me? (She goes up to curtains, and opens them—there lies ANGELA cozily huddled in a heap, fast asleep.) Well, if the little fluff hasn't fallen asleep. Here—wake up—the idea.
ANGELA: (In her sleep.) Harry, be gentle with Miss Carey—she can't help it. (MISS CAREY shakes her so she jumps up.) Oh Miss Carey— hello.
MISS CAREY: Now get your things together—your husband is coming for you in a minute.
ANGELA: (A la Ibsen.) I shall never return to Harry again—
I've left him for life.
MISS CAREY: You'll not stay here all that time.
ANGELA: (As she comes down, dreamily.) No, I intend to marry another—and oh, Miss Carey, his hair is so spick—his shoulders so broad—his teeth are so white.
MISS CAREY: Good Lord, woman, now you're commencing with another.
Who is it?
ANGELA: Surely you must have foreseen my danger—I'm in love with your boarder.
MISS CAREY: Why, you must be crazy—girl—I won't let you enter into such a madness.
ANGELA: (In horror.) Oh Miss Carey, don't tell me you're in love with him yourself. (MISS CAREY sinks in chair.) But you'll not get him.
MISS CAREY: Why, my dear, I wouldn't have him for a birth-day present and neither will you. (After an ad lib. argument.) We'll see. (She calls off in next room.) Fire! Fire!! Fire!!!
(ANGELA gets scared and starts to run one way as FRED runs in—in canton flannels without toupee, etc., etc. ANGELA flops. After audience has seen FRED'S condition, he realizes presence of ladies and rushes back to door—sticking his head out.)
FRED: Where? Where's the fire?
MISS CAREY: Go back to your bed, Mr. Saltus. (With a look at
ANGELA.) There was a fire.
ANGELA: (Disgusted.) But Miss Carey—has—put—it—out.
(On word "out" she gestures him out of room and out of her life.
FRED closes door as he withdraws head.)
ANGELA: Oh Miss Carey, what an awful lollard that is. (There is a ring at bell.)
(Music commences sweet melody.)
MISS CAREY: (Knowing it is HARRY.) Open the door and see who it is.
(ANGELA opens the door—HARRY stands there in regimentals—handsome, young and dapper. ANGELA falls back in admiration.)
HARRY: Angela.
ANGELA: Oh, Harry darling!
MISS CAREY: He does look good!
ANGELA: (As she picks up her belongings.) I'm going home with you.
MISS CAREY: (As ANGELA goes up to HARRY.) Don't forget your tea dress. (Hands her the little bag.)
ANGELA: I'm so tired, Harry—take me home. (He lifts his tired little wife up in his arms and as he goes out, she mutters:) You're not such a bad lollard after all.
MISS CAREY: (Going to put out light.) Now, thank Gawd, I'll get a little sleep.