Torch Song Page #5

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You asked for this party.

You know, I've been watching you.

I can hear that volcano rumbling.

What's with you and this Tye Graham?

Look, Monty.

You get 10 percent of my earnings,

but my problems belong to me 100 percent.

Now get back in there and tell them

to get out. All of them, and fast.

All right, everybody,

on stage for the finale.

Okay, come on.

On stage for the finale, Miss Stewart.

All right, all right. I'll be there.

Splendid.

WoMAN:

I've been waiting for this for a long time.

- I don't think we'll have any trouble at all.

WoMAN:
Just great.

Come on, everybody,

I'll buy you all a drink.

Oh, let's go.

Quiet while I give your instructions.

Remember, tomorrow morning,

10:
00 at Penn Station.

- Good night. It was a wonderful show.

Thank you.

WoMAN:
Good night.

Bye.

- Did you get my compartment?

- Better. Got a drawing room.

Good. What space did you get for Tye?

He isn't going to Philadelphia.

- Chuck?

- Yes.

Put this in my dressing room.

Right.

So I says to her, I says,

"Well, that's all very well, Mrs. Kurtz.

I love the apartment.

I know it's a bargain.

Only $30 more than we're paying now.

But who are we to live in the East 50s?

Why, we're poor people.

The old apartment's good enough for us. "

She said, "After all,

you're Jenny Stewart's mother. "

- Take that coat off now!

- Oh, Jenny, it's such a beautiful coat.

You hardly ever wear it.

- Mother, will you get her...?

- All right, we won't get in your way.

Take off that coat, Celia.

Call us and let us know

how everything goes.

- I will, Mom. And don't worry.

- All right, good luck.

Thank you.

Celia?

- I like the way it looks on you.

- Oh, Jenny, I'll even wear it to bed.

Bye.

Oh, Anne?

Put these in the trunk. No.

You better get the shoes in that.

Never mind.

Get Tye Graham on the telephone.

Tell him I'll... Never mind, I'll talk to him.

Just get him on the phone.

Mr. Graham for Miss Stewart, please.

Oh, I see.

She said she doesn't know

if he can talk now.

Can you call him later?

What do you mean "she"?

This is Jenny Stewart

and I wanna talk to him now.

You sure took your time getting here.

Couch is straight ahead of you

to your left.

- Thank you.

- I'm surprised to see your dog with you.

I thought you'd taken my advice

about a seeing-eye girl.

What ever gave you that idea?

It certainly wasn't Duchess

who answered the telephone.

Wasn't it?

You know, you have the most revolting way

of answering a question with a question.

I do?

Was that the girl

who picked you up at the theater?

She's a member of our quintet.

Not too talented to be troublesome.

She's pretty.

So they tell me.

I met her through my editor.

What quintet and what editor?

I used to write drama

and music reviews before the war.

The quintet is a group of my friends.

We play together

because we like to be together.

Where did you find them?

Why?

Why do you want to know?

Curiosity.

Like you once said about me,

I wanna know more about you.

Well, that's fair enough.

I knew most of them many years ago

before the war when I could see them.

I know their moods, I know their faces.

I know how they look when they frown

or when they smile.

With these people, I feel at ease.

I can see them.

I'm happy to be with them

because I can see them.

I understand.

Is that all you wanted to see me about?

No.

Why aren't you going

into Philadelphia with us?

My work is finished.

I...

I wish I could say that I've enjoyed

every minute of it, but I can't.

You are almost impossible to work with,

but I think I understand why.

Your first loyalty isn't to money, or having

your name up in lights, or even to yourself.

It's your audience, isn't it?

You sound as if

you're feeling sorry for me.

I am.

Why are you always needling?

Digging, ripping people apart.

What is it with you?

Is that how you get your kicks

or something?

I'll tell you why you should go

to Philadelphia.

We might have to change

a few routines during the tryout.

It's happened before.

Might have to do a lot of rearranging.

I might need your opinion.

Does my opinion have

any real importance to you, Jenny?

Of course.

You know your job, you're honest.

You hate me, but you're honest.

I'm sorry, I can't go with the company.

I've made other plans.

And I don't hate you, Jenny.

You sure give a good imitation of it.

All during rehearsals.

You made me feel

as if you were up there on that stage...

...and I was down in the pit

looking up at you.

I don't know how you did it,

but you made me feel about that big.

All right, Jenny.

You're wonderful.

You're marvelous.

You're the be all and end all.

The "times" in Times Square

and the "broad" in Broadway.

- Will that do?

- No, it won't.

And another thing.

Tonight after dress rehearsal...

...you walked out without a goodbye,

good luck, nothing.

What do you expect me to say?

That I like you?

I don't.

That I'll miss you? I won't.

That I can't live without you? I can.

- Don't you shout at me.

- Why not?

You made a career of shouting at people.

- It's time you heard some of the echoes.

- Ah!

That's a wilted summer stock line

if ever I heard one.

And that's part of your act too.

Everything you don't say is corny.

But every time you open your mouth, you

expect to rock the world back on its heels.

I've rocked it a few times, buster.

Then why not give it a rest?

Why not relax?

Stop trying to make the world shout

"Hurrah for Jenny" every hour on the hour.

Do you know where this

is gonna take you?

Where, professor?

To a day when no producer's gonna use you

because you aren't worth all the trouble.

To a day when you're aren't the great Jenny

Stewart, but a cheap and vulgar has-been.

And then there'll be the bottle.

But even liquor won't lie to you.

I hit the bottom pretty fast, didn't I?

And even on the way down,

you won't be original.

You'll dye that lovely,

dark red mane of yours, that...

That Gypsy Madonna hair,

all colors of the rainbow.

Anything to hide

your real self from yourself.

"Gypsy Madonna"?

Gypsy Madonna was a painting by Titian,

an Italian artist.

I know all about him,

you don't have to tell me.

He lived in venice

and died of the plague.

Now get out of here

before you give it to me.

I didn't know you was coming

or I'd have gotten some high-class beer.

- Beer is beer.

- Not anymore.

They don't make it like they did

when your father was drinking.

You could taste the hop.

And the malt used to hit you in back

of the head like a ton of brick.

- Nowadays, it all taste mild.

- It's okay.

And them pretzels,

they ain't no bargain neither.

Look at the thin, scrawny things. Hah.

Ain't got enough salt on them

to make a cat thirsty.

I'm not hungry anyway. Thanks.

- Something wrong?

- No, it tastes fine.

Well, it ain't the beer I'm talking about.

Here it is midnight. And you're here and

you've got an early train in the morning.

It is late.

I'd better be going. You must be tired.

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