Age of Anxiety by Josepha Gutelius
CAST LIST
JOHN DEVILLE, age 40, successful artist, with megawatt charisma
RUTH KLINGLE, age 40, John's wife, an eccentric scholar of Auguste
Rodin
BETH KLINGLE, age 40, Ruth's older sister, histrionic, and a
desperate flirt, owner of a chronically failing art gallery
Other: John's Assistant(s), male or female or both. [Note: John's
Assistant(s), like most artists' assistants, are artists themselves,
so they will dress cutting-edge. They will function as stagehands,
moving props as needed, and more significantly, they will be comedic
witnesses to the action.]
Lights rise on RUTH, dressed for a gala (all black), sprawled on her
back on the floor, sloppily drunk.
It's late at night, and evidently the after-party blues have set in
for Ruth.
A long table is splattered with the remains of wine bottles and food.
Some overturned chairs. The space is otherwise empty as hell.
JOHN's voice can be heard bidding goodbye.
JOHN (off): Thanks, thank you, thanks for coming! Thanks everybody!
He enters, walking around, admiring the space
JOHN: Awesome. What a night. Oh… I've been standing a million
hours listening to everyone jabbering about my genius. Ow. My feet are
killing me.
RUTH: You… Your shoes are on backwards. Hee-hee-ha. Made you look.
JOHN: You look comfortable.
RUTH: You bet.
JOHN: Did you love it? Yes! Come on, hands up.
He claps.
RUTH: Please… Not so loud.
JOHN: Is this the greatest show ever-ever-ever? The concept, the
audacity, the ambience, I don't know how I'm going to top this.
I just set the bar skyward.
RUTH: Oh… yeah! the bar
She crawls to the table, grabs a bottle, tottering.
JOHN: The potential. The imagination. The excitement of it pending.
RUTH: Huh?? Pending???
JOHN (still lost in his own thoughts): ... Did you see the look on
people's faces when they came in? The realization that what's
here is not all here. There's still space that is unoccupied until
some future time. And what's great, is that everyone got it.
RUTH: Did I really spend six hours at an art show that doesn't
exist yet?
JOHN: The reviews are going to be amazing.
RUTH: No… No-show… (giggles) No-show, no-no-no show.
No-no-no-no…
Whoa… Spinning…
JOHN: Had enough to drink?
RUTH: Not yet. I am filling up "Negative Space."
She drinks from a bottle
JOHN: "Positive Space?"
RUTH: Hmmm?
JOHN: "Positive Space." That's the title of my show.
RUTH: "Negative Space?"
JOHN: Are you trying to depress me? Because it won't work. You had
a great time.
RUTH: I had a terrible time. I was arguing all evening.
JOHN: Yeah, arguments are great.
RUTH: I was yelling. At people. Lots and lots of 'em.
JOHN: Yeah, it was a great crowd.
RUTH: Do we say great a lot? Maybe those people are little bitty bit
phony?
JOHN: I love phonies.
RUTH: That kid with the braid? (wonderingly) When I was four years
old I had a long, long braid like that.
JOHN: You must've been adorable. Could we talk about my show?
RUTH: And that woman? Oh my gosh, that woman. You know?
JOHN: No - what woman?
RUTH: The one not wearing black? You know? Oh, come on, you know. She
was the only person not wearing black.
JOHN: Her. Yes. Smart girl. She loves my work.
RUTH: She has a heart of stone. (maudlin) "Oh my dear poor Moo-Moo
Moo-moo…"
JOHN: Okay. Time to go home.
He takes the bottle from her
RUTH (blearily): I don't know the way home.
JOHN: It's next door. Do you want me to carry you?
RUTH: No. Don't touch. You mocked me.
JOHN: Me? I've never mocked you.
RUTH: My pickled footnotes.
JOHN: Your pickled footnotes.
RUTH: He has no idea what pickled footnotes.
JOHN: Should I know what "pickled" means?
RUTH: "Pickled"—it means—well… Wait…. Don't say
anything. I've got this one. Pickled means stuck and vinegar- ed.
Yup.
JOHN: People love pickles.
RUTH: Do you? No. Ha! You don't. But you laughed. Oh how you
laughed and laughed. They called my footnotes "pickled" and you
laughed.
JOHN: Are we talking about your footnotes on Rodin?
RUTH: Yes. Obviously.
JOHN: You know I've never even read your footnotes.
RUTH: Then what was so funny? I heard "ha-ha-ha."
JOHN: I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't what you think.
I guess I laughed maybe, but that's because I—
RUTH: What.
JOHN: I - I got caught up in the excitement. So did you. I saw you.
You were very excited all evening.
RUTH: I was angry.
JOHN: Yeah, angry is being excited.
RUTH: No no no. You are not getting away with this. I embarrassed
myself. I made a total idiot of myself. Don't ignore that.
JOHN: You were fine. You were perfect. You're getting all worked up
over nothing.
RUTH: No, it's not nothing. This is nothing.
She indicates the space
RUTH: My stupid, embarrassing behavior - that's NOT nothing.
That's me, acting stupid and being laughed at, by a bunch of
ignorant kids.
JOHN: You know that girl not wearing black? She's one of your
students.
RUTH: No way. No way. No way.
JOHN: She told me. She loved studying with you. She gushed about your
seminar on Rodin.
RUTH (surprised): Wow. She "gushed" about Rodin?
JOHN: Yeah.
RUTH: She sounds wonderful. Did you gush with her?
JOHN: I
RUTH: You hate Rodin.
JOHN: I—
RUTH: You hate Rodin. You hate his naked male, dripping with "corny
sentimentality."
To quote you.
JOHN: We didn't actually talk that long.
RUTH: My poor dear Rodin. Who can hate Rodin? Her vagina.
JOHN: I can't believe this conversation.
He finds Ruth's purse, looks for her coat
RUTH: She is known for it, John?
JOHN: Where'd you put your coat?
RUTH: John? She was showing everyone her renowned photographs of her
vagina.
JOHN: So? She's an artist.
RUTH: So why didn't she come to me and gush, instead of showing
everyone her vagina?
A pause
JOHN: Maybe she's shy.
RUTH: I hate my life.
JOHN: Like hell you do.
He finds Ruth's coat, helps her put coat on
JOHN: Come on, put your arm in.
RUTH: I hate my life and my life hates me back.
JOHN: Uh-huh. That's the liquor talking.
RUTH: No, no, I told you. I spent an entire evening defending my
footnotes. Clearly, I have problems.
JOHN: No. There is no problem. I had the greatest show of my career
and it sold out.
RUTH (double-take): Somebody bought this?
JOHN: Hmm-hmm. A very imaginative Hollywood collector.
RUTH: Wow. Why can't I do that? Do you think I could hold an auction
and sell non-existent Rodins?
JOHN: There's an idea.
RUTH: Oh… Oh…What does it mean, what does it all mean, is
negative space the very tippy-top summit of all our aspirations?
JOHN: Positive Space.
He puts on his coat
JOHN: And it'll pay for the new place you wanted.
RUTH: You wanted. I like old. New is no improvement.
JOHN: You know what your problem is, baby?
RUTH: Which problem are you referring to? I have so many.
JOHN: You're stuck in the familiar.
RUTH: Or or let me think I'm getting there, wait:
thinking I am… What am I… I'm lost. I'm lost lost in the
unfamiliar.
JOHN: So enjoy it. Being lost is fun.
RUTH: No: fun is smiling. Am I smiling?
JOHN (flirtatiously): You will be.
RUTH (woozily pushing him away): Nope…You don't get it. I am
holding onto a very… very slimsy-flimsy string. And I am losing my
grip.
JOHN (inspired): That's beautiful. String? String, yes…
That's perfect. That's exactly what I've been looking for. Baby,
you are the best, thank you, you are brilliant.
RUTH (nauseous): I feel sick.
JOHN (oblivious, has an idea): Wait. Close your eyes. It's a
surprise.
RUTH (perks up): Surprise?
JOHN: Hmm-hmm. Close your eyes. Both of them. You excited?
RUTH: Dizzy, whoa. Hurry up.
JOHN (writing something on a slip of paper): Hold on.
RUTH (slumped against John): You smell good.
JOHN: Thanks. Open your hand.
RUTH: Where's my hand? Oops, there it is.
She flings her hand out.
He puts a small slip of paper in her hand
JOHN: You can look now. Well?
RUTH (blearily, turns the paper over): What.
JOHN: Read it. Say it out loud.
RUTH: "Read."
JOHN: The word. The word.
RUTH (squinting): Shhhh-shit-str—
JOHN: String. For a new artwork, an installation—using string.
He hugs her
JOHN: You are my muse. I adore you.
He peers at her
JOHN: You okay? Baby, you're turning colors.
BETH (off): Kill me! I want to die!
RUTH: That's the spirit!
[end of extract]