66

Scene 4: Sometime in the dark, vacant hours between late night and early morning.

Some of the clothing and other debris have been removed from the bed, yet some

remains. Olivia has cleared a place for herself and is lying on it, covered with a light

blanket. Outside the patio doors the storm has abated, though damp, heavy mist clouds

the view and remnants of the rain continue to drip from the eaves. Inside the only light

comes from two candles that are still lit. The rest have burned out. The scattered items

have been replaced on the dresser, and the flowers are standing upright in a chair, the

pieces of the broken vase beside them. Olivia awakens and instinctively reaches to her

side but finds only empty space and some stray pieces of clothing. She glances around

the room a moment, as though at first uncertain of where she is. She sits up and throws

off the blanket. She is not wearing pants and the side of her leg still reveals the dark

scrape and bruise. She looks around the room, gets up, and crosses to the patio door.

She looks out, turns away, paces nervously for a moment. She pulls on a pair of pants,

and as she does so her leg again begins to cramp. She massages it, then moves around

the room some more, gently rubbing it, all the while absorbed in thought. She stops,

looks at the telephone. She hesitates, paces some more, and again looks at the phone.

There is a moment of great hesitation. Then she picks it up, hits a button, listens, waits.

She fiddles nervously, waits some more. Then—

Olivia: Jeffrey?? . . . I'm sorry to wake you. . . . Oh?? (looks at the clock on the night

table) Well, it's after four. . . . Well, it's good that someone is up. . . . Well . . .

Because, that's all. . . . Actually, I was going to ask you the same thing. . . . (Her voice

drops in disappointment.) Oh. . . . Well, she probably just felt like going for a

drive. . . . No. . . . Well—yes, a little. (glances to the patio door) I know it's stopped,
 67

but there aren't any lights on the road, and it's still pretty treacherous out. . . . Could

you give me a call if you see her come in? . . . In case she doesn't come up. . . . She

might stop to see you. . . . I just think she might. . . . Yes, even at this hour. . . .

Yes. . . . All right. . . . Thank you (rubs her leg) It's fine. . . . I will. . . . Yes. . . . I

promise. . . . Thank you.

(She hangs up and begins to pace again, looking out the window, rubbing her leg,

when the note card catches her eye. She picks it up, looks at it, and is suddenly

absorbed in thought. The moment lingers. She paces some more, but this time more

slowly, her mind turning. She continues to pace, a thought taking shape. She stops,

looks again at the card. She goes to the dresser drawer, removes the reservation

card, looks at it briefly, pauses, then tears it into pieces and hides them among her

belongings. She pauses, thinking a moment, then crosses to the phone, picks it up,

pushes a button, waits. This time the pickup is much sooner.)

Jeffrey? . . . I hate to ask you this, but I think I need something for this leg. You don't

have a heating pad, do you? . . . (Rather than reflecting disappointment, she is

pleased.) Oh. If it's any problem please say so, but do you think you could run out

and get me one? . . . I think the mini-mart has them. . . . I'm sure I've seen them in

there. . . . If they don't I know the one up the road does. . . . Only if it isn't too much

trouble. . . . If you weren't already up. . . . Oh, thank you, you don't know how I

appreciate this. . . . Yes, it is a favor, don't say it's not. . . . It is. . . . Stop it. . . . All

right. . . . All right. . . . Thank you.

(She hangs up, sighs with relief, but quickly becomes deliberate again. For a brief

moment she remains motionless, her hand still on the phone, her body frozen but her
 68

mind working. She gets up, removes the tea server from the top of the dresser and

places it in a drawer. She takes the flowers and broken vase and for a moment

wonders where to hide them, finally slides them under the bed. She wanders around

the room, rearranging the debris, pulling her things together into one corner, as

though they had been neatly arranged there for some time. While doing this the

phone catches her eye. She picks it up, doesn't quite know what to do with it, is about

to hide it beneath a pile of clothes but changes her mind—and places it prominently

back on the night stand. She goes to the patio door and again looks out just as a car

is heard pulling into the parking lot. Olivia quickly turns away and takes her bag

from where it had been lying on a chair, places it open on the bed, and begins

gathering some of her things. Her back is to the door when Helen enters from the

hall. Olivia pretends to be caught off guard, stops. They exchange looks.)

Helen: (equally caught off guard) You're up.

Olivia: . . . Yes.

(Instinctively, Helen is about to turn on the light but then sees the candles and stops,

steps further into the room, drops her purse and jacket on the bed, spots the blanket

and cleared space where Olivia had been lying.)

Helen: Long?

Olivia: No.

Helen: An hour?

(No response.)

Two?

Olivia: Something like that.

 69

(Pause.)

Helen: Were you waiting?

(Pause.)

Olivia: No.

Helen: It's . . . (She looks for the clock, but it has been moved to another part of the

room.)

After four.

(Long pause.)

Were you wondering where I've been?

Olivia: I figured you would tell me.

Helen: But if I didn't come back?

Olivia: I thought you'd be back.

Helen: Why? I had the car and a tank full of gas.

Olivia: (gesturing to the room) All of your things.

Helen: They're just (pause) things. We accumulate them and abandon them. Or they

abandon us. Either way, we become attached to them but pretty soon we find out we

can just as easily live without them. In fact, we soon find out that there are many

things that we can do without, that there are few that we really need. (pause) Take

this. (She picks up a blouse from the bed and holds it up as though to illustrate how

insubstantial it is.) A million years ago we were running around without them, and

then we learned to walk and for some reason came to believe we have to cover

ourselves. Well, thirty years ago we were burning bras, maybe these will go next.
 70

That's what we finally learn. That everything is disposable. (She drops the blouse

back on the bed.) How does that go? "To everything there is a season . . . "

(Helen approaches the dresser where the tea service had been standing, stops.)

What happened to the tea?

(Pause—Olivia has to think of a response.)

Olivia: I don't know. I fell asleep and when I woke up it was gone.

Helen: Where did it go?

Olivia: I don't know.

(Helen stares at Olivia, searching for more of an answer, but nothing is forthcoming.)

Did you want something to drink?

Helen: (turns away) No.

Olivia: Something to take the chill away?

Helen: No.

(Helen is caught for a moment, looks for something to occupy herself. She realigns

the bottles and other items that she had swept off the dresser, although they need no

further straightening. Olivia watches.)

Olivia: So? Where have you been?

Helen: Where have I been? (pause) Where have I been? All up and down the coast. I'm

sorry. (pause) Down and up the coast. First I went down, then up. It was a nice night

for a drive. I thought so. After the rain had stopped. (pause) It was a wonderful night

for a drive. The quiet and stillness of the night. The pavement glistening with wet.

Water dripping off the eucalyptus. The raindrops, bringing out the aroma.

Olivia: So, you had a nice night.

 71

(Pause.)

Helen: No.

Olivia: No??

Helen: There was one disappointment.

Olivia: What was that?

Helen: I drove past the gallery where we looked at the painting this afternoon and where

it had been hanging there was nothing but empty space.

Olivia: I'm sure you can find another.

Helen: Not like that. That one would have fit so well.

(Pause.)

Olivia: you'll find another.

Helen: Some things are irreplaceable.

(Pause.)

Olivia: So, is that all you did, drive around looking for paintings?

Helen: No. (pause) I continued down the coast.

Olivia: I thought you went up.

Helen: Down. Then up. At this point I was still headed down.

Olivia: I thought you may have gone out to the cove.

Helen: Why is that?

Olivia: You always liked it there.

Helen: Not in the rain. (pause) It was raining tonight.

Olivia: By then it had stopped.

Helen: (pause) It was too wet.

 72

Olivia: So you walked along the beach.

Helen: How did you know?

Olivia: There's sand on your shoes.

(Pause. Impulsively, Helen steps away, would hide her feet if she could.)

Helen: Would you like to hear about my walk?

(Helen waits for a response. It doesn't come. She continues.)

I must have walked a mile up the beach. There was a heavy mist blowing in from the

sea. Everything was damp—the boulders. Little puddles forming in the crevices.

Drops, collecting on the anemone. (pause) I kept walking up the beach, in the dark

and all the wet, and I started thinking about all the other times I'd seen it. Morning.

Sunrise. Sunset. The clear evenings when the stars came out. Hot afternoons when

storm clouds would build on the horizon and a rainbow appeared after the storm had

passed. At the end of the summer, when it would become cool late in the day, after

the sun had dropped behind the cliffs. Then the water was steely blue, the surface

still and smooth, and if there was light shining in the west the rocks along the edge

would glow with color. Early in the spring little flowers would appear in the fissures

between the .rocks, growing up out of the moss. At the end of the summer the petals

would collect, and after a rain they would leave little blots of color.

Olivia: I can't imagine it much like that tonight.

Helen: I never said it was like that tonight. I said that was how I remembered it.

Olivia: Tell me about tonight.

(Pause.)
 73

Helen: You know what it was like tonight. (short pause) Oh, no, you wouldn't, would

you? You've been here all night, tucked under the blankets. (She sees the lone

blanket, corrects herself.) Blanket.

(Pause.)

Olivia: Are you going to tell me about tonight?

Helen: It doesn't matter what it was like tonight.

Olivia: No??

Helen: No. (pause) What matters is . . . what I thought. (pause) How it affected me.

Olivia: And how was that?

(Pause. Helen paces a little, turns away from Olivia, not knowing how to proceed.)

Helen: It's . . . an interesting time of day, if you look at it the right way—too late to be

night, too early to be morning. All that stillness, the emptiness in the windows that

says everyone has retreated to the warmth and comfort of their beds. A time beyond

time, where everything has stopped. So what to do? I walked on. I must have

walked for an hour. In the night and in the wet.

Olivia: All the way to the end of the beach?

(Pause.)

Helen: No.

Olivia: No?

Helen: No.

(Pause. Helen proceeds a little more cautiously, weighing her words.)

Something . . . became disconcerting about it all.

Olivia: What was that?

 74

Helen: It’s . . . not the sort of thing you could put your finger on. Looking out to sea . . .

you couldn't see anything. Not a light from a boat. A star in the sky. Not a cloud,

though they must have been everywhere. It was . . . unsettling. That’s when I started

me thinking: I've been out there at night many times, and in the rain. So it shouldn't

make any difference to be out here at night and in the rain. (Helen pauses, as though

waiting for a response.) No, it shouldn't. So I started saying to myself: "I've been out

here at night, and in the rain. Tonight I'm out here at night, in the rain."

Olivia: Over and over?

(Pause.)

Helen: Yes. It has rhythm to it. Symmetry. Try it. (pause) "Out here at night, and in the

rain. Out here tonight, in the rain." What do you think?

(No response.)

Then I thought, maybe I’ll go back—to the city. (reaction from Olivia) I didn't

mention that, did I? That's what I was thinking when I got in the car—I wasn't going

to come back here. I was going to turn onto the highway and head to the highway

and not stop until I saw the lights of the city. But then, I thought . . . it's still my

birthday. And birthdays only come once a year. One day a year to commemorate the

day we were dropped from the womb. There was a beautiful weekend planned. And

it was going to be a wonderful weekend. A wonderfully special one. And we don't

get so many that we can afford to just . . . cast them aside, do we? (Pause—she eyes

Olivia for a reaction, then continues.) I had cleared away all the work at the office

and gone through the trouble of coming all the way up here. To drive all this way and

then turn around and . . . go back, not to have enjoyed—this bed. The sun, shining in
 75

these windows in the morning. The view down the coast when the fog lifts off the

beach. The sound of the gulls and terns and the waves breaking against the shore. To

turn away. Forgo all that? No, that would never do. That's the problem these days.

Everything is so willy-nilly. We decide things on a whim. We've grown accustomed

to obeying our every whim. We go to elaborate lengths to plan—a special place, with

special people—and then— (She stops, catches herself.) . . . if we weren't able to

switch gears, to take appropriate measures . . . So then I decided what to do.

Olivia: What’s that?

Helen: (matter-of-fact, as though it were self-evident) Stay. Come back. Get another

room. So all will be the same. I could even request one with the same view.

Olivia: And spend the day by yourself?

Helen: Who said I'm going to spend it by myself?

(Helen has reached for the phone but Olivia’s question stops her—momentarily. She

picks it up, hits a button.)

Olivia: What are you doing?

(No response.)

Helen, it's four o'clock in the morning.

(Again, no response.)

It's late.

You shouldn't wake anyone up at this hour.

(Still no response as Helen waits for a pickup on the other end that has not come.)

Helen: I'm not waking anyone up. Lateness is . . . all in the mind of the beholder. Or

dreams of the sleeper.

 76

Olivia: I . . . wouldn't do that if I were you.

(There is till no answer. Helen puts the phone down.)

Helen: That’s all right. I'll try again later.

(Helen moves around the room, troubled, but trying to contain it. She approaches the

table where the vase of flowers had been standing, sees them missing, stops. She

looks around the room quickly in all directions, trying to contain her sense of

urgency, turns to Olivia.)

Where . . . are the flowers?

(No response.)

What happened to the flowers?

(No response.)

What did you do with them?

Olivia: Nothing.

(Pause.)

Helen: Where did they go?

(No response. Olivia begins to move around the room, putting a few things together

as though she were also packing, but this is done absently—makeshift work—without

much thought.)

Who took them?

(Pause.)

Who took them??

Olivia: He did.

Helen: (pause, not totally comprehending) Who did?

 77

Olivia: He did.

(Pause.)

Helen: (still not comprehending) Why??

(Pause.)

Why??

(No response, from Olivia.)

Helen: When . . . ?

(No response.)

When??

Olivia: I don't know. When I got back they were gone.

Helen: . . . Why would he take them?

(No response. Now Olivia is avoiding Helen's gaze.)

Why did he take them?

(Pause.)

Olivia: He . . . wanted them back.

Helen: Why would he want them back?

(No response.)

Why would he want them back?

(Pause, as she prepares for this.)

Olivia: He . . . found out.

Helen: (half challenging, not taking it in) What??

(No response.)

Found out what?

 78

Olivia: About us.

Helen: (still not quite comprehending) What??

(No response.)

What?

Olivia: About us.

(Silence, as it registers.)

Helen: He knew.

(Silence, which only provokes Helen.)

He knew.

Olivia: So I thought.

Helen: Of course he did. (pause) All this time . . .

(Silence.)

Why would he take the flowers??

(No response.)

What did he say?

(No response.)

What did he say??

Olivia: I told you, I wasn't here.

Helen: Why would he take the flowers??

(Pause.)

Olivia: He . . . wants us to leave.

(Silence. Helen is frozen, confused, horror-struck. For the first time she notices that

Olivia has been slowly packing.)

 79

Helen: Why??

Olivia: He doesn't want us coming anymore. (pause) He said . . . if we came back . . . we

would not feel at home.

Helen: He didn't say that.

(No response.)

He didn't.

Olivia: Goes to show how little you know some people.

(Pause.)

Helen: We have our reservation.

Olivia: He canceled it.

(Helen freezes, glaring at Olivia, challenging. Olivia goes to the dresser, takes the

torn reservation card out of the drawer, holds it out to Helen. Helen takes it, looks at

the pieces with disbelief, then reaches for the phone.)

Olivia: It isn't any use. He said he wouldn't answer.

(Undaunted, Helen pushes a button and waits—and waits—until it becomes

unbearable. She hangs up. Olivia is oddly matter-of-fact.

You shouldn't be surprised. It's hardly the first time. Remember the old days? The

looks we would get, even at school. It still happens—the little remarks that are made.

You probably don't notice. Just when we think times have changed things have a way

of creeping up on us.

(Helen has crossed to the window, stares out.)

 80

You can still stay. There's that inn up the road. It isn’t as nice as this, but then, what

are a few amenities? Compared to some of the places we’ve stayed. (pause) I’ll call

to see if they have a room.

(She reaches for the phone.)

Helen: No. . . .

Olivia: Why not? You want to stay, you can stay.

(No response.)

You don't want to stay?

(No response.)

Do you??

(Silence.)

Helen: (dismissing the question, not a reply) . . . No.

Olivia: What's the difference? Here? There? This room? Another one down the road?

(No response.)

I'll call to see if they have a room. . . . (She reaches for the phone.)

Helen: No!!

(Olivia stops.)

Olivia: What's the matter?

(No response.)

Here??

(No response.)

Where you're not wanted.

(No response.)
 81

Where you've been turned out.

(No response.)

Is that what you want to do?

(Helen is too gripped by emotion to answer.)

Which is it? To stay or not to stay. Go or not to go. Where to stay. So many

questions. Well, one of us has to make up their mind.

(Olivia moves away from her packing. Helen looks at Olivia terror-struck, shrunk

into herself.)

Helen: What are you doing??

Olivia: This room is no longer big enough for the both of us. You have plans. I don't.

To me it is neither betwixt nor between. Therefore you will stay. We can't be kicked

out, we've paid through the weekend. (Olivia finishes pulling her things together. She

reaches for the phone, but Helen lunges for it, grabs it first. Olivia is taken by

surprise but remains matter-of-fact.)

Olivia: Are you going to call for me?

(No response.)

Are you??

(Helen is frozen, clutching the phone.)

You're going to go.

(No response.)

You're going to stay?

(No response. Olivia takes the keys from her pocket and sets them down on the night

stand, beside Helen. Helen looks at the keys, and at Olivia. She picks them up,
 82

pauses, torn by ambivalence, sets them down. Pause. She moves toward the door but

Olivia steps in the way, blocking her path.)

Olivia: Where are you going?

(Silence. Helen does not move.)

Where are you going??

Helen: Get out of the way.

Olivia: Where are you going??

(No response.)

Back??

Helen: To what?! Rooms that are empty and a phone that is silent?!

(Pause.)

Olivia: Where are you going??

Helen: GET OUT OF THE WAY!!

(No response.)

Olivia: Where—??

Helen: GET OUT!!

(Helen rushes to the door but Olivia grabs her, pulls her away. The two fall onto the

bed, then the floor. They struggle, Helen trying to get to the door, Olivia holding her

back.)

Olivia: Helen—!!

Helen: . . . OUT!!

Olivia: HELEN—!!

Helen: HE CAN'T DO THIS!!

 83

Olivia: WHAT?!

Helen: NOOOOOOO!!

Olivia: WHAT!!

Helen: I HAVE TO SEE HIM!!

Olivia: WHY?!!

(No response.)

WHY?!!

Helen: I HAVE TO!!

Olivia: WHY?!!

(No response. They struggle.)

Helen: (now weakening, desperately) I . . . HAVE TO!!

Olivia: WHY HELEN?!!

(No response.)

WHY?!!

Helen: BECAUSE HE CARES FOR ME!! HE CARES FOR ME!! THERE'S NO ONE

ELSE!! NO ONE!! (Helen finally tears away from Olivia, confront her.) How

would you know?!! There are sounds in your house, and you have people there and

they tell you you have a place. Maybe it's all a lie but at least you can believe the lie!

(pause) When I was young I stood up for who I was and I thought it would make me

stronger! But it brought only coldness—the coldness of hearts with nothing in them.

That's what I've felt ever since—coldness and darkness—and I don't know how to

make sound and light where there isn't any!! I don't know how!! I don't know how!!

I DON’T KNOW HOW!!

 84

(Olivia backs away, a little stunned by the force of Helen's delivery. Suddenly the

phone rings, wherever it had been dropped during the melee. Neither one moves. It

rings again. Another ring. Olivia scrambles across the bed and reaches through the

disheveled piles of clothing to find the phone, answers it.)

Olivia: Yes . . . ? . . . No, that's all right. . . . Please, don't bother. . . . Yes, it's feeling

better. . . . Yes, I'll be fine. . . . Yes. . . . Yes, I'm sure. (pause) Thank you anyway. . . .

Yes, I'm sure. . . . Thank you. . . . All right. . . . I will. . . . Yes. . . . Yes. . . . You too.

. . . Good night.

(Olivia places the phone back on the receiver, fumbling with it. She goes to where

Helen is slumped on the floor and embraces her, this time with deep affection, almost

clinging to her. Helen yields, but passively. A long, awkward moment. Olivia is

about to speak. Finally—)

Helen: Don't . . .

Olivia: (with deep feeling, almost a plea) Helen . . .

Helen: Don't.

(Pause.)

Olivia: I'm—

Helen: Don't.

(Silence.)

You knew?

Olivia: No.

Helen: Something?

Olivia: Yes.
 85

Helen: Long?

Olivia: No.

Helen: I . . . didn't.

(Silence.)

I didn't.

Olivia: No.

(Pause.)

Helen: You did.

Olivia: Something.

(Silence.)

Helen: It's better . . . ?

Olivia: Yes.

(Pause.)

Helen: We can't . . . ?

Olivia: No.

Helen: (with greater certainty) We can't.

Olivia: No.

(Pause.)

Helen: (a little dubiously) "Two roads converged in a yellow wood . . . "?

Olivia: Yes.

(Pause.)

Helen: It is . . .

Olivia: Yes.
 86

(A moment of silence. Then Helen removes herself from Olivia's grasp, gets up.

Olivia lets go with slight surprise, and almost reluctantly. Helen begins to move

around the room, pulling together the last of her things. Olivia watches uncertainly,

with concern. Helen does not meet her gaze. She closes her bag but then suddenly

stops, hesitates, turns to face Olivia, is about to speak, stops.)

Olivia: Take the car.

(No response.)

Go ahead.

Helen: How will you . . . ?

Olivia: Jeffrey . . .

Helen: . . . Of course.

(Pause. Further hesitation. Neither one knows how to break the moment. Then

Helen picks up her bag and moves to the door. She is about to go out when she stops,

turns to face Olivia, as though some last word should be said. Pause.)

Olivia: Live, Helen.

(Silence.)

Helen: . . . Yes.

(Long pause.)

Well . . . ?

(A long silence. Then Helen turns and goes out. The room is quiet. Olivia sits

motionless on the edge of the bed. From outside there is the sound of a car starting

and then pulling out of the driveway. Olivia remains motionless, but her fists

involuntarily tighten their grip on the edge of the bed, and she remains fixed in this
 87

position until the sound has completely faded. When it is gone she lets go, sits still

for a moment, then reaches under the bed and removes the flowers. She takes one, sits

on the edge of the bed and caresses it, smelling its blossom, inhaling deeply. She

smiles faintly and rubs her sore hip as the lights fade.)

End