Happy Birthday, Wanda June Page #3

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Pause.

PENELOPE:

Yes?

SHUTTLE:

Something happens to my confidence.

PENELOPE:

(to the audience)

This conversation took place,

incidentally, about three months

before Harold was declared legally

dead.

SHUTTLE:

When Harold is definitely out of

the picture, Penelope, when I don't

have to worry about doing him wrong

or you wrong or Paul wrong. I'm

going to ask you to be my wife.

PENELOPE:

I'm touched.

SHUTTLE:

That's when I'll get my confidence

back.

PENELOPE:

I see.

SHUTTLE:

If you'll pardon the expression,

that's when you'll see the fur and

feathers fly. Good night.

PENELOPE:

Good night.

Blackout.

SCENE TWO:

SHUTTLE and WOODLY argue in pitch darkness, with PAUL

listening, and lights come up gradually to full on the

living room the same evening.

SHUTTLE:

You've got to fight from time to time.

WOODLY:

Not true.

SHUTTLE:

Or get eaten alive.

WOODLY:

That's not true either--or needn't

be, unless we make it true.

SHUTTLE:

Phooey.

WOODLY:

Which we do. But we can stop doing

that.

The lights are full. SHUTTLE and WOODLY are bored with each

other, WOODLY looks out the window, speaks to an imaginary

listener who has more brains than SHUTTLE. PAUL hates them

both, but prefers SHUTTLE's noisy manliness.

WOODLY:

We simply stop doing that--dropping

things on each other, eating each

other alive.

SHUTTLE:

(calling)

Penelope! We're late!

PENELOPE:

(off, in master

bedroom suite)

Coming.

SHUTTLE:

(to PAUL)

Women are always late. You'll find

out.

WOODLY:

(thoughtfully)

The late Mrs. Harold Ryan.

SHUTTLE:

I'm sick of this argument. I just

have one more thing to say: If you

elect a President, you support him,

no matter what he does. That's the

only way you can have a country!

WOODLY:

It's the planet that's in ghastly

trouble now and all our brothers

and sisters thereon.

SHUTTLE:

None of my relatives are Chinese

Communists. Speak for yourself.

WOODLY:

Chinese maniacs and Russian maniacs

and American maniacs and French

maniacs and British maniacs have

turned this lovely, moist,

nourishing blue-green ball into a

doomsday device. Let a radar set

and a computer mistake a hawk or a

meteor for a missile, and that's

the end of mankind.

SHUTTLE:

You can believe that if you want.

I talk to guys like you, and I want

to commit suicide.

(to PAUL)

You get that weight-lifting set I

sent you?

PAUL:

It came yesterday. I haven't

opened it yet.

WOODLY:

(musingly, attempting

to find the idea

acceptable, even

funny, in a way)

Maybe it's supposed to end now.

Maybe God wouldn't have it any

other way.

SHUTTLE:

(to PAUL)

Start with the smallest weights.

Every week add a pound or two.

WOODLY:

Maybe God has let everybody who

ever lived be reborn--so he or she

can see how it ends. Even

Pithecanthropus erectus and

Australopithecus and Sinanthropus

pekensis and the Neanderthalers are

back on Earth--to see how it ends.

They're all on Times Square--making

change for peepshows. Or recruiting

Marines.

SHUTTLE:

(to PAUL)

You ever hear the story about the

boy who carried a calf around the

barn every day?

WOODLY:

He died of a massive rupture.

SHUTTLE:

You think you're so funny. You're

not even funny.

(to PAUL)

Right? Right? You don't hurt

yourself if you start out slow.

WOODLY:

You're preparing him for a career

in the slaughterhouses of Dubuque?

(to PAUL)

Take care of your body, yes! But

don't become a bender of horseshoes

and railroad spikes. Don't become

obsessed by your musculature. Any

one of these poor, dead animals

here was a thousand times the

athlete you can ever hope to be.

Their magic was in their muscles.

Your magic is in your brains!

PENELOPE enters from the bedroom, dressed for the fight.

She wears barbaric jewelry HAROLD gave her years ago, a

jaguar-skin coat over her shoulders.

PENELOPE:

(brightly)

Gentlemen! Is this right for a

fight? It's been so long.

SHUTTLE:

Beautiful! I've never seen that coat.

PENELOPE:

Seven jaguars' skins, I'm told.

Harold shot every one. Shall we go?

WOODLY:

(sick about the slain jaguars)

Oh no! Wear a coat of cotton--wear

a coat of wool.

PENELOPE:

What?

WOODLY:

Wear a coat of domestic mink. For

the love of God, though, Penelope,

don't lightheartedly advertise that

the last of the jaguars died for you.

SHUTTLE:

She's my date tonight. What do you

want her to do--bring the poor old

jaguars back to life with a bicycle

pump? Bugger off! Ask Paul what

he thinks.

(to PAUL)

Your mother looks beautiful--right?

(PAUL pointedly

declines to answer)

Kid?

(PAUL walks away from him)

Doesn't your mother look nice?

(he goes to PAUL,

wondering what is wrong)

Paul?

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