The Dresser Page #8

P*ssy...

Be gentle with Her Ladyship.

I'm always gentle with Her Ladyship.

Especially gentle.

Why?

Time of life.

Ohh!

You mean flushes

and dizzy spells?

She's become very

preoccupied with herself.

Sounds like a bad attack of change.

Be gentle. I don't want her hurt.

BELL RINGS:

Ai-ai!

Sleep now.

Is there anything else you want?

Oblivion.

That'll come sooner or later.

And I hope later.

I shall wake you in plenty of time

so you can enter fantastically

dressed in wild flowers.

Sleep tight,

don't let the bugs bite.

Fetch Madge!

KNOCK ON DOOR:

Yes?

It's going well, I think.

Except for your first entrance.

Come here.

Hold my hand.

Please.

It's like ice.

Cold with fear.

What are you frightened of?

Of what is to come.

You know who you're

talking to, do you?

It's me, not someone to impress.

I'm speaking from my heart.

I have never before felt so lonely.

Please, I have a show to run...

Listen to me.

I am frightened of what is to come.

And I meant it, because,

for the first time in my life,

the future is hidden from me.

I see no friends.

I am not warmed by fellowship.

I know only...

awful solitude.

An occupational hazard.

You wanted to see me, about what?

I look on you as my one true friend.

I have to go back to the corner.

Have you been happy?

Has it been worth it?

No, I've not been happy.

Yes, it's been worth it.

Madge, dear...

In my will, I've left you

all my press-cutting books.

I don't want to hear what

you've left me in your will.

Cuttings and notices that span

a lifetime, an entire career.

I've kept them religiously.

Good and bad notices alike.

Not all that many bad.

Talk of me sometimes.

Speak well of me.

Actors live on only

in the memory of others.

Speak well of me.

This is a ridiculous conversation.

You're in the middle

of a performance of Lear,

playing rather less mechanically

than you have of late,

and you talk as if you're organising

your own memorial service.

The most wonderful thing in life

is to be remembered.

Speak well of me.

You'll be believed.

You'll be remembered.

Madge, dear...

I have something for you.

I want you to have this ring.

If possessions can be dear,

this ring is the dearest thing I own.

Edmund Kean wore this ring

in a play whose title is an apt

inscription for what I feel -

A New Way To Pay Old Debts.

When you talk of it,

say Edmund Kean and I wore it.

I once had it in mind

to give it to you...

years ago.

But you were younger then,

and I thought

you would misunderstand.

Yes.

A ring from a man to a woman

is easily misunderstood.

I know I'm thought insensitive,

but I'm not blind.

No. I've always known you were aware

of what the spinster

in the corner felt.

You were right not to give me

the ring years ago.

I lived in hope then.

At least I've seen you every day,

made myself useful to you.

I settled for what I could get.

You are the only one

who truly loves me.

Beginners for act two.

KNOCK AT DOOR:

Who?

Irene. I'm returning

the triple crown, Sir.

Come.

BELL RINGS:

Put it down.

Sir, will it disturb you

if I say something?

Depends what it is.

I just wanted to thank you.

For what?

The performance this evening.

It's not over yet. I felt honoured

to be on the stage.

Open that drawer, you will find

a photograph of me.

I love coming into this room.

I can feel the power.

And the mystery.

In days gone by,

this would have been a place

where the High Priests robed.

A kindred spirit.

Lock the door.

Come nearer.

It's Irene.

Irene.

You want to act?

Yes. Passionately?

Yes.

With every fibre of your being?

Yes.

To the exclusion of all else?

Yes.

You must be prepared to sacrifice

what most people call...

Life.

I am.

Your birth sign? Scorpio.

Good.

Ambition, secretiveness, loyalty,

capable of great jealously.

Essential qualities in the theatre.

Have you good legs?

Come closer.

Let me see.

Higher.

TOO good. All the best actresses

have legs like tree trunks.

There's not much of you, is there?

Such small bones.

Are you getting enough to eat?

SHE GASPS:

So young...

So young...

HE GROWLS, SHE SCREAMS

That's more like it!

Too late, too late.

Well, now, my dainty duck,

my dearie-o. Let go of me!

What was all that about?

He seems better.

Better than what or whom,

as the case may be?

I didn't think he'd get through

the performance tonight.

He's NOT through it yet.

I'm waiting.

For what? A graphic description

of events. Out with it,

or I shall slap your face - hard.

I thought we were friends!

I thought we were too.

Irene...

I shall long remember welcoming

you into the company,

in the prop room of

the Palace Theatre, Newark-on-Trent.

You were locked in the arms

of the Prince of Morocco,

a married man,

and ever such a comic sight

with his tights round his ankles

and you smeared black.

And I said,

"Don't worry, mum's the word,

"but don't let it happen again. "

Sorry, what am I

supposed to have done?

Well, you tell me. About what?

About Sir.

You know who Sir is, Irene.

I'm late. I have to help

Her Ladyship with her armour.

Her Ladyship's armour will keep.

Perhaps you didn't understand

the question.

What did Sir do?

I'm not telling you.

Then I'll mark you for life, ducky.

You! You strike me

and I'll tell Sir - I will, I will.

I'll tell Sir, I'll tell Sir.

Tell Sir? On me?

I quake in my boots.

I shan't be able to eat my tea.

Oh, tell Sir!

Never mind "tell Sir".

I'll tell YOU.

He did something,

something unseen and furtive,

something that gave him pleasure.

He lifted me up in his arms.

Lifted you up?

And I understood,

I understood what he meant.

"So young, so young," he said,

and lifted me up.

"That's more like it," he cried,

and I knew, cradled in his arms,

that it was youth and newness

he was after...

It's not youth or talent

or star quality he's after, ducky,

but a moderate eater.

DOOR OPENS:

Oh, there you are.

You're late with my armour.

Off you go, dear. You'll have

to find another canoe to paddle.

Ours, I'm afraid... has holes.

SWORDS CLASH, MEN GRUN HE YELLS

Be brief in it, to the castle;

For my writ is on the life of Lear

and on Cordelia.

Nay, send in time.

Haste thee for thy life.

You're on. I wish you wouldn't do

that. You remind me of a labourer.

.. some good I mean to do,

despite of mine own nature.

Ugh, God Almighty!

Cue LX.

TIMPANI PLAYS:

APPLAUSE:

Howl, howl, howl, howl!

O, you are men of stones. Had I your

tongues and eyes, I'd use them

so that heaven's vault

should crack.

She's gone for ever!

I know when one is dead, and

when one lives. She's dead as earth.

Lend me a looking-glass;

If that her breath will mist or stain

the stone, why, then she lives.

This feather stirs; she lives!

If it be so, it is a chance

which does redeem all sorrows

that ever I have felt.

Is this the promised end?

Or image of that horror?

And my poor fool is hang'd.

No, no, no life!

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat,

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