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Main
Talk To Me
SETTING: MAGGIE and TREVOR's living
room. There is a table, with
an arrangement of old, dried
out flowers at the center,
and scattered mail. One
chair is at SR, away from the
table, with MAGGIE's
needlework basket beside it.
AT RISE: It is early afternoon.
MAGGIE sits in her chair with
a tray across her knees. On
the tray are shards of a
colorful ceramic plate.
MAGGIE is attempting to put
the pieces back together with
a bottle of Elmer's Glue, but
it is messy, discouraging
work. SHE is upset,
distracted. We hear a DOOR
SLAM, off-stage. MAGGIE jumps
slightly, but she continues
with her work. After a beat,
TREVOR enters from SL. He is
coming in from a long walk
outside, taking off his coat
and draping it over the chair
at the table. His manner is
awkward, uneasy, as he
glances at MAGGIE and what
she's doing, then away, then
back at MAGGIE.
TREVOR
Hey. I was just out in the park. It's really not that cold.
I saw a black squirrel, it was cool . . . You know, that
thing of Elmer's is messed up. I tried to puncture a hole in
it once, 'cause, you know, it had dried-up stuff clogging the
top. But maybe I got a little carried away. Now it just,
like, gets everywhere. We really should just buy a new one.
(HE walks around the table, making
a show of casually sorting
through the mail, looking over a
bill, looking over the flowers)
These flowers have really had it.
(After a beat)
So, look, Maggie. This is really silly. Just talk to me,
okay? I mean, I can understand if you're upset.
You're mad at me, and that's cool. I mean, you've got every
right to be angry. I wish I could justify myself, but I
can't, and I'm sorry. All right?
(SHE still will not look up)
TREVOR (cont'd)
I tell you, though, I don't think that's very constructive,
trying to put that plate back together.
I mean, as I recall, that's not some priceless heirloom. I
bought that for you at the open craft market, it wasn't even
some craft thing, it was second-hand. It cost a buck fifty.
I'll tell you what. We'll go back to that booth at the
crafts fair. I'll be a sport, I'll buy you a new plate,
how's that?
(HE watches her. Still no response.
SHE is blowing on the seams of the
plate SHE has glued back together. HE
moves away from the table and paces,
agitated. But HE tries for a little
humor)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Okay, now here's the thing. Some guys would be worried at
this stage. Some guys would get the feeling you're trying to
give them the brush-off. But I know better. See, I now the
bond that there is between you and me. This is Trevor you're
dealing with, here. And I know, Maggie, that deep down,
despite your best efforts, you got a sense of humor. And I
got a sense of humor too. And people with a sense of humor
can work things through. They work it out, even when it gets
bad. So, I'll make a deal with you, Maggie. Here's the
deal. I make you laugh, I make a silly face and make you
laugh -- and then you and me gotta work things out. Okay?
You so much as smile, and I'll know that somewhere in there
you're still my Maggie, and things are gonna be okay. Okay?
Here I go.
(TREVOR makes a genuinely funny,
silly face, and does some strange
gestures to go with it)
Hey, come on now, I'm knocking myself out, you gotta at least
look. If you don't look it's cheating, it's 'cause you know
you'll crack under pressure.
(Silly face and silly voice)
Come on now, Maggie. Look. Look. You must look . . .
(SHE looks up at him, grimaces, looks
back down. HE is deflated
momentarily, then --)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Yeah, I remember when I was a kid, I was watching that old
game show "Make Me Laugh." And this lady was in the
championship, she had won round after round, they couldn't
make her laugh. And she was up for the grand prize, $25,000
plus the Turtle Wax and the Rice-a-Roni, whatever.
TREVOR (CONT'D) (cont'd)
And then they bring this other woman into the booth, waving
this giant Q-tip in her hands, and she's yelling: "Hey,
Dumbo! You forgot to clean your ears!" And, man, that
championship lady just lost it. I mean, that laugh just
split her face, and it poured out, all the laughs she was
holding back, and tears are streaming down her cheeks. But
it must have felt good, though, huh?
(MAGGIE is back at work on the plate,
wiping excess glue from the seam
between two pieces)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Oh, for Christ's sake. Put it away, Maggie. You made your
point, you rubbed my face in it enough. I'm sorry I lost my
temper, and I'm sorry I broke a fucking plate. It happens.
Cut me some slack, okay? Jesus. Maybe I was wrong about you
having a sense of humor, you know? I take it back.
(HE watches her work some more.
His anger is rising)
I'm not sure that anyone who relishes self-pity the way you
do can have any real sense of humor -- at least about
themselves, their own behavior. I mean, you just love to sit
there and sulk! I swear, you sit there hoarding up every
slight and injury anybody ever did to you, telling over them
like fucking rosary beads. You just crawl away like a little
kid to lick your wounds and pick at your old scabs, telling
yourself how noble and long-suffering you are. Huh? Putting
a cracked plate together with fucking Elmer's Glue and
feeling like the martyr of the century!
(MAGGIE, half-nodding, half-shrugging,
with an "I guess you're right" facial
expression, takes the tray full of
pieces of plate and dumps it into the
waste basket. TREVOR is startled)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Oh. Well, yeah, see, that's the spirit. So, we start over, a
new beginning. And all the bad stuff we put behind us,
right? Hmmm?
(As HE tries to elicit a response, SHE
goes to her needlework basket, takes
out some crocheting or some knitting,
and settles back in the chair)
TREVOR (cont'd)
We buy a new plate and start over. Or not a plate --
something else. That was a nice day we spent at the crafts
fair, Maggie. Don't think I don't remember. And you can't
plan a day like that, or manufacture a repeat.
TREVOR (CONT'D) (cont'd)
It just happens when it happens. So we'll go to other
places, find something new, huh?
(SHE does not look up. HE walks
around the room, beating a tattoo on
his hips with his hands. HE almost
exits SL, then --)
TREVOR (cont'd)
You know, my parents used to pull this kind of shit on me
sometimes. This "silent treatment" shit. Did I ever tell
you that? Yeah, that was their maximum punishment. No
hitting, no yelling, just stop talking to the kid for a
couple of days. They thought it was very humane and
advanced, I guess -- but all the hitting and yelling they did
the rest of the time kinda took away from the fancy impact,
you know? But the funny thing, with this silent treatment
shit? It was the hardest thing to take. Worse than my dad's
belt, or my mom smacking me, or going to bed without supper --
anything. I mean, when you're an eight-year-old kid, or a
twelve-year-old kid, and your parents just ignore you, man,
by the second day, you are just losing your mind. Whatever
pride you got -- and a kid does have to hang on to a little
bit of pride -- it's just gone.
(Snaps his fingers)
No shame. No dignity. By the second day you're begging, and
pleading, and apologizing for what you did and for things you
didn't do, and your chest is tight, and you can't breathe and
you're just chattering away and goofing around . . . doing
wild, dangerous shit, like put a plastic bag over your head,
or stick a fork in the light socket, anything to get some
kind of response out of them -- any reaction at all. An
explosion. A beating. Because it's better than looking at
their back and listening to the sound of your own fucking
voice.
(SHE remains absorbed in her
needlework. HE studies her)
TREVOR (cont'd)
You're a hard woman, Maggie. You know how shrinks say you
always marry someone like your mom or your dad. And damn, I
sure didn't set out to marry my parents. But now I'm seeing,
for the first time, maybe I did. Maybe I did.
(Becoming more aggressive)
Well, let me explain something to you. A marriage isn't
about sulking and shutting the other person out. It's not
all smooth sailing. It's fucking hard work. It's push and
shove, and give and take, and argue and explain, and
compromise, and forgiveness, and both people trying to do 60%
of the work -- or else it's nothing. I hate to break it to
you, but that's the way it is.
TREVOR (CONT'D) (cont'd)
And I happen to think that this is a marriage worth fighting
for. It was hard for you to find somebody, and hard for me.
And I don't run around. I don't even look at other women,
and you know that. You know that, Maggie. And do I also
have my faults? Yes I do. I own up to them. I apologize
when I mess up, which is more than my father was ever able to
do. I'm loud, and I'm clumsy, and I get stupid when I'm
drunk, and I have a bad temper -- yes. You knew all that
going in. Just like I knew how tough you can be. I knew all
about the self-pity, and the coldness, and the dark moods.
(Feeling put upon)
Though I tell you, I didn't know you'd be making me look like
an idiot in front of my friends like that. That I could not
predict. Making your nasty little muttered remarks, to me,
to them.
(Becoming more upset)
You don't approve of them? Okay, so maybe I don't think all
of your friends are fascinating and wonderful. Imagine that.
And me and these guys go way back, and I hardly ever get to
see them, and how do you think it makes me feel, having you
roll your eyes ahd put those little . . expressions on your
face. You think I like being pussywhipped in front of my old
buddies, huh? I like being publicly humiliated?
(After a beat)
And okay. I know what you're going to say. I don't need the
statistics, I don't need the feminist theory bullshit. I
know your line that "men are afraid that women will laugh at
them, and women are afraid that men will hurt or kill them."
It's a great line. But marriage is more than just what they
tell you to do in a movement, or in Ms. Magazine, or on
fucking Oprah. A marriage is personal, between two people.
(Another beat)
And I don't think you understand what it means to a man to be
publicly mocked, to have a woman seem to be laughing at him.
You can't even understand what it does to his sense of
himself as a man. Oh, fuck it!
(HE storms out of the room -- or
almost out. HE storms back and stares
at her in silence. When HE speaks
again, HE is calmer)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Look, so what do you want me to say? I am sorry I got drunk.
I am sorry I lost my temper. I am sorry I broke the plate,
and I am sorry I hit you, okay? I don't know how it
happened, I did not plan it that way. I could promise you
that it will never happen again, only you won't believe me --
so what can I do? You wanna see me hit myself now?
(HE slaps himself across the face.
SHE jumps slightly, does not look up)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Wanna see it again? Harder?
(HE does it again, harder)
Not everybody can do that, you know. You think it's easy,
but it's not. It's like a reflex, you flinch and your hand
just stops itself. I had to train myself to do that, to
override the stop mechanism, when I was a kid. So I'd be
tough. So I wouldn't start sniveling when my dad beat on me.
(Wincing, near tears: suddenly
guilt and need are spilling out,
a torrent of words)
Only hitting yourself . . . it doesn't hurt like it hurts to
have someone you love hit you, and baby I know that, Maggie,
I am so sorry, Jesus, please talk to me, I'll do anything,
baby, please, just yell at me, call me all kinds of names,
tell me what I should do.
(HE is on his knees now, before her,
holding on to her knees, trying to
take her hand as SHE sits. SHE is
looking away, very upset)
TREVOR (cont'd)
Maggie? Baby? Please look at me, baby, please talk to me,
don't do this. Just give me something to grab onto, here.
(SHE puts down the wool in the basket,
and turns away from him in the chair.
TREVOR rises)
TREVOR (cont'd)
You know what I keep thinking about? "The African Queen."
You know, when Bogart gets drunk, and he says something
nasty, and the next day Katherine Hepburn won't talk to him,
and finally he's like all right Miss, fine. Let's go down
the river. And that's how I'm feeling, Maggie. You've won,
you've made your point, you've broken me.
Let's go over the falls, you and me, let's go down the rapids
with everyone shooting at us, let's blow up the big German
ship, let's do it all, baby, tell me what to do and I'll do
it, just tell me what you want me to do!
(HE is desperate and wild. HE grabs
her, forces her to look at him -- and
the fear SHE feels at his touch helps
her know what SHE must do)
TREVOR (cont'd)
(Shouting)
Say something, dammit! Curse me out, I don't care, say
something, beat me up, gimme a reaction, give it to me!
(MAGGIE erupts, flailing her fists,
punching him, pushing him off of her,
and screaming)
MAGGIE
Let go! Let go of me, you bastard, let go, I want a divorce.
I want a divorce, you ruined it, you broke it. It was good,
it was so hard to find, and you broke it, you threw it in the
garbage . . .
(SHE has pushed him away and stood up.
HE stares at her, shocked)
MAGGIE (cont'd)
(More calm)
I want a divorce.
(LIGHTS DOWN)
END OF PLAY