Drama
Issue #1
Lessons in Drawing
A radio play
Dramatis Personae (in order of speaking)
Dorian – a male art teacher: upper class voice
Chorus – various accents, male and female.
Caitlin – a female: Yorkshire accent
Janice – a female: Yorkshire accent
Marjorie – a female: Yorkshire accent
Damian – a life model: Southern accent
TV Narrator – a male voice.
Barry – a nuclear physicist
Tram Announcer – A female voice
Gloria – a female: Welsh accent
Hamish – a lobster: Optional Scottish accent
Notes on the text:
1. Sentences within * brackets are distinguished by being on a microphone, separate from the general dialogue. The effect should be that of an internal voice.
2. Epilogue 2 may be omitted if time restrictions apply.
LESSONS IN DRAWING
SCENE 1
(Fade up on background voices, mostly indistinguishable. These voices are present throughout the scene, but quieten in volume during dialogue.)
DORIAN: One must not be afraid to approach one’s subject. Today I do not wish you to look at the object as an object. Ignore the fact that the human form is made of bone and muscle. See the subject in terms of light and shade, brightness and darkness. Do not draw the subject, draw the shadow. Let the shadows guide you towards the form of your subject.
Right then. Has everyone got their chalk?
CHORUS: Yes, Dorian.
DORIAN: Has everyone got an easel?
CHORUS: Yes, Dorian.
DORIAN: Very well. Let me introduce you to our model for today. Come forward Damien, don’t be shy. Good. You may begin class.
CAITLIN: *Why on earth did I sign up for this class? I’m useless at drawing, especially with these stupid bits of chalk. I hate getting the dust on my fingers; it makes me want to wash my hands all the time. I wish I’d taken Italian now. I’ve always wanted to be able to speak Italian. It sounds so beautiful, every sentence sounds poetical or something. I’ve seen bits of Italy in those holiday programmes and it all seems so – so wonderful. Not like here. Not with the rain and the greyness. Sometimes I think I’m losing my sight because all I see is monochrome, like the colour has leaked out into another world leaving this one in shades of shadow. It’s not like that in Italy, is it? Everything is so much louder and brighter there. There are colours and smells and sounds. I feel that I would be more alive if I lived in Italy. But the Italian class was full, so I’ve ended up here. Drawing badly.
Dorian is buzzing around like an overdressed fly, making wavy gestures with his frilly-cuffed hands. I never realised before just how depressing it can be to sit in a room full of people who have more talent than me. And I’ve never wanted to be an artist, but my pride takes a battering every week I come to this class. I should stop coming really. Perhaps next week I’ll stay home, just to see how it feels. I’ll wait for Barry to get back from work and we’ll watch television together. The thing is, I’ll be asleep by the time he gets back and he’ll be drunk. This is my night, when I get to do what I want to do. Even if I don’t really want to do it.
Marjorie – on my left, the one with a cowboy plumber as a husband – you’d never think to look at her, all bust, no thighs, but she’s quite a good artist. Better than me at any rate. And definitely better than Janice on my right. She’s drawn the model’s legs all wrong, his front leg looks like a great big penis. And his arm looks like a crooked banana. Full of phallic imagery is Janice’s work. Dorian goes crazy over it of course. Well, he would, wouldn’t he. Camp as Christmas is Dorian. I blame his mother. If you call your son Dorian what else can you expect? I only sit next to Janice because – to my mind at least – she makes my work look good.*
DORIAN: (Approaching from right) that’s it Janice, very nice, very nice. Ah, Caitlin. And how are we today?
CAITLIN: Fine thank you Dorian.
DORIAN: Now what have we here then? Ah. Right. That’s a very interesting approach. Very… unusual.
CAITLIN: Well you know. I didn’t want to have to examine his bits and bobs. I don’t even know his name. It doesn’t feel right drawing his whatzit when I don’t even know his name.
DORIAN: So you decided to draw him with underpants on. Well, at least it’s unique I suppose. A one off.
(A ripping then a scrunching of paper)
CAITLIN: What did you do that for? I was just about to start on his foot. It’s the only bit I’m any good at, the feet.
DORIAN: I let the moment take me, Caitlin. I had an impulse to dispose of that drawing and I did it. You must let the moment guide you. Feel your subject, Caitlin; embrace it with your mind. Start again. And this time do not leave out the detail. If there is shadow it must be represented. He has a penis, draw it. Even if you don’t know his name. It’s Damien, by the way. (Going.) Ah, Marjorie, another triumph I see.
CAITLIN: Another triumph! It looks like someone has vomited charcoal onto a sheet of paper. Hers is a triumph and mine is in pieces on the floor. I have to start again. Damn Dorian, damn this stupid art class. I want to go home and curl up on the sofa, let the flickering of the TV lull me to sleep. But I can’t just go. People will look at me funny and I have to face Janice and Marjorie at work tomorrow.
JANICE: Why did he tear up your drawing, Cait?
CAITLIN: He had an impulse.
JANICE: (Darkly.) Ah – I see.
CAITLIN: And I haven’t even got to the feet. I’m good at the feet. They always look (Slight pause.) foot like.
MARJORIE: Guess what!
CAITLIN: *It really is like being at school again.*
MARJORIE: Dorian’s only given me a number of a picture framer he knows. Dorian thinks my work is good enough to be properly framed and mounted.
JANICE: Mounted!
MARJORIE: Yes, mounted!
JANICE: I wish my work was good enough to be mounted.
MARJORIE: One day it will be, Jan. One day.
CAITLIN: *At school, do you remember how the most popular girl would surround herself with other girls, all at various degrees of prettiness below her. Minions, we called them. I was an Indie girl, my friends and I would sit in each others bedrooms nodding our heads in time with guitar music, smoking or swigging from a bottle of vodka. We despised the popular girls and their drippy underlings. Janice is one of Marjorie’s minions. I have a horrible inclination that Marjorie also views me as a minion.*
MARJORIE: Did you hear that Cait?
CAITLIN: Mounted! Who’d have thought? It must be great to get mounted. *It’s too easy. I should have more self control.*
MARJORIE: I’ve never felt so fulfilled. I wonder what I should get mounted on.
CAITLIN: *Please, someone make her stop.*
MARJORIE: There are so many different types of paper nowadays. So much choice.
DORIAN: (At a distance.) Time for your break, Damien. Feel free to circulate. Five minutes everyone!
DAMIEN: Is my gown around somewhere?
DORIAN: Ah, yes. It’s on my seat. For safe keeping.
MARJORIE: (Close again.) He’s quite a looker, isn’t he , Jan.
JANICE: (Embarrassed.) I wouldn’t know, Marjorie. I only have eyes for my Gavin.
MARJORIE: There’s no harm in looking. Can’t really help it when he’s standing in front of you without a stitch on.
JANICE: He’s definitely better than Mr Cartwright from last week.
MARJORIE: I was just glad he was naked indoors for once. Every Sunday he mows his lawn, his body vibrating like a jelly.
CAITLIN: And now he gets paid for it.
MARJORIE: Do you remember Mrs Alonza? You could only tell which way she was facing by her nipples.
CAITLIN: You can be cruel sometimes.
MARJORIE: I can’t help being blessed up top, Caitlin. Anyway, what do you think of our new model?
CAITLIN: He’s alright. I wish he hadn’t taken a break then. I was halfway through his feet. I’ll never get them right when we start again.
DAMIEN: I’m sorry about that.
CAITLIN: Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.
DAMIEN: It’s more difficult than you think. Trying not to move whilst in ridiculous poses. Dorian is very specific about what he wants.
MARJORIE: Isn’t he just.
DAMIEN: Do you mind if I have a look. I’m always interested in how people see me on paper.
CAITLIN: If it’s not flattering, it’s not because you aren’t attractive or anything. It’s just my bad drawing technique. Dorian’s always saying how bad it is.
DAMIEN: Don’t be so bashful. It looks quite good. I don’t know anything about art but I’d say you’re nearly there.
CAITLIN: Really?
DAMIEN: Just keep at it.
JANICE: (Shyly.) Do you want to see mine, Damien?
DAMIEN: Wow, that is flattering. It must be the angle or something.
JANICE: Oh no. That’s supposed to be your leg.
DAMIEN: Sorry, I thought that was supposed to be my – sorry. But apart from that, my head looks realistic.
DORIAN: (In distance.) Damien! Coee!
MARJORIE: Do you want to see mine, Damien?
DAMIEN: I think Dorian wants me back in position.
CAITLIN: I’m Caitlin by the way.
DAMIEN: It was very nice to meet you Caitlin, and you too ladies.
CAITLIN, MARJORIE & JANICE: Bye, Damien!
DORIAN: Quick sketches now ladies. I shall instruct Damien to reposition himself every thirty seconds. Ready, set, go!
(Loud ruffling of paper.)
MARJORIE: I think a certain someone has a crush on a certain artist’s model.
JANICE: I refute that Marjorie, in the strongest possible-
MARJORIE: Not you, you ditsy cow. I think Ms O’ Gara here has a hankering for Mr Damien.
CAITLIN: Don’t’ be silly, Marjorie.
MARJORIE: (Imitating Caitlin’s voice.) ‘It’s not that you’re not attractive or anything, Damien’, ‘You’re lovely, Damien’, ‘I want you, Damien’, ‘Oh Damien, take me away from my grey little life’.
CAITLIN: That’s enough Marjorie. Just because your Martin likes to put it about, doesn’t mean we all do. *That’s shut her up. So what if I like him. He’s nice, he’s good looking. Doesn’t mean anything.*
DORIAN: And change.
(Fade down on ruffling paper and background voices.)
SCENE 2
TV NARRATOR: (Speaking over a crunching sound.) The pupa of the wood wasp bursts out of the ladybird’s soft under belly, eating its way out whilst the ladybird is still alive.
(Distant thud of door. Jangling keys getting closer.)
CAITLIN: Hiya, love.
BARRY: Where’ve you been?
CAITLIN: Art class. What are you watching?
BARRY: The Life of Ladybirds. It’s fascinating. I only thought you got red ones with black spots but you also get black ones with red spots and yellow ones with black spots and black ones with yellow spots.
CAITLIN: Fascinating.
BARRY: So how was it?
CAITLIN: Art class? It was fine. Dorian thinks I’m making real progress.
BARRY: Have you been drawing anything nice?
CAITLIN: Oh you know the usual. Just bowls of fruit, piles of books. That sort of thing. *I don’t tell him we do life drawing. He’d only get funny. And he never asks to see the work, so there’s no chance of him finding out.*
BARRY: There’s a documentary on Picasso after this. Shall we watch that?
CAITLIN: Okay. That’ll be nice. *My biggest regret is getting cable TV. All Barry and I do is watch documentaries. He loves them. He loves knowing things. A living breathing encyclopaedia of useless information – that’s Barry. He can tell you the average acreage of rainforest lost everyday, the world record for free diving, the number of teeth a shark has. But if you asked him why I don’t love him anymore, he’d be stumped. I’m not even sure when it happened. There is nothing wrong with Barry, he carries me to bed when I’ve fallen asleep on the settee. On his day off he’ll bring me breakfast in bed. There’s something wrong with me.*
SCENE 3
(Fade up on background voices, mostly indistinguishable. These voices are present throughout the scene, but quieten in volume during dialogue.)
DORIAN: Thank you Damien, you may take your break now. Coffee, everyone!
JANICE: Do you think Damien’s single?
MARJORIE: Probably not. No one that looks like that stays on the shelf for very long. Can’t be anything serious if he isn’t though.
CAITLIN: How do you know that?
MARJORIE: No ring. I’ve just been drawing his left hand.
CAITLIN: *I have a ring. Barry asked me to marry him last year. It was very romantic, in a restaurant with a violinist, roses, the whole works, like in a film. It seemed romantic at the time, but when I look back I can’t help but think that asking me in a public place was somehow cowardly, cause you can’t say no in front of lots of strangers can you. It wouldn’t be right. Quite often I forget that I’m engaged but then the flash of gold catches my eye and I look at the ring in bewilderment. It looks like the only visible link in a chain.*
MARJORIE: Caitlin! Go and find out if he’s attached.
CAITLIN: Why me?
MARJORIE: Cause you look the most innocent. If Jan or I asked, he’d be suspicious.
CAITLIN: Do I look innocent?
MARJORIE: Butter wouldn’t melt.
CAITLIN: How am I supposed to approach him?
JANICE: Just bump into him at the coffee machine.
CAITLIN: Oh, alright. If it will shut you two up.
(Background voices rise in volume. There are clinks of china.)
DAMIEN: Hello! Caitlin isn’t it?
CAITLIN: Yes. That’s right. Caitlin. With a C.
DAMIEN: Can I get you a coffee, Caitlin with a C?
CAITLIN: Please.
(A gurgling noise and water pouring.)
DAMIEN: So how is the drawing going?
CAITLIN: Okay I suppose. It’s helped having the same model for a few weeks. It got a bit confusing having to study a different body every week. And you get so many weirdoes modelling.
DAMIEN: Really?
CAITLIN: (Gabbling with embarrassment.) Not you. I didn’t mean you. I’m sure most professional models are quite sane. But round here we mostly use locals. Anyone who is willing to stand up there naked. We’ve had tramps, flashers. I think it’s something about nudity. Weird people like it.
DAMIEN: I think it can only be healthy to be comfortable with your body.
CAITLIN: But doesn’t your girlfriend mind lots of strangers staring at your body?
DAMIEN: My girlfriend wouldn’t mind.
CAITLIN: She must be very secure
DAMIEN: She is.
CAITLIN: Oh.
(Pause.)
DAMIEN: She’s also not my girlfriend anymore
CAITLIN: But that’s gre-... Very sad. What happened?
DAMIEN: We went to India last summer. She decided not to come back.
CAITLIN: More fool her, leaving someone as nice as you behind. Do you miss her terribly?
DAMIEN: Only when I eat curry. It reminds me of her. I only think about her when I’m eating curry. Something really embarrassing happened a few weeks ago. I shouldn’t tell you. I feel stupid just thinking about it.
CAITLIN: Go on. I won’t tell anyone else.
DAMIEN: A couple of friends took me to an Indian restaurant last month and I couldn’t stop crying. I just sat there weeping, the poppadoms getting all soggy. I think it was the final stage in letting her go; getting her out of my system. I feel very embarrassed now.
CAITLIN: You shouldn’t. It’s sweet. Embarrassing but endearing.
(Pause.)
DAMIEN: Are you doing anything after class?
CAITLIN: I don’t think so.
DAMIEN: Would you like to go for a quick drink. There’s a pub just around the corner, The Madding Crowd, I think it’s called.
CAITLIN: I ought to get back home really. Maybe another time.
DAMIEN: Maybe another time. Have you got a pen?
CAITLIN: In my pocket. There you go
DAMIEN: Give me your hand. That’s my number. Ring me if you change your mind.
(Fade down on background noise.)
SCENE 4
TV NARRATOR: [Over fairly explicit vomiting sounds] The Penguin regurgitates the food into the chick’s mouth, the mush easier to swallow for the young than whole fish. The parent’s body warmth also keeps the fish at a warm temperature.
CAITLIN: Barry?
BARRY: Sh! This bit’s dead interesting. I never realised how many different types of penguin there are. They look so funny waddling about on land, but underwater they are like torpedoes.
CAITLIN: Barry?
BARRY: Yes, love?
CAITLIN: Do you think you’ll have anymore time off this year?
BARRY: I shouldn’t think so. Nuclear fusion doesn’t happen on it’s own you know.
CAITLIN: We haven’t had a holiday for a while now.
BARRY: I took you to Bognor Regis last December.
CAITLIN: Yes. And that what a nice surprise, but it was only a weekend. I mean a couple of weeks. Somewhere in the sun.
BARRY: Abroad? Not Germany. You know how I feel about sausages.
CAITLIN: I thought perhaps Italy would be nice. Somewhere different.
BARRY: Italy?
CAITLIN: You know, the boot shaped bit in the Mediterranean. I got this travel guide from the library. Look at the pictures. Look at all the old ruins. We could go to the Coliseum or Pompeii.
BARRY: I’ve seen a programme on Pompeii. (Doubtfully.) It looked quite hot.
CAITLIN: It’s where the volcano exploded and covered everyone in ash. You can see casts of the dead bodies, which is a bit gruesome.
BARRY: Imagine being buried in ash. Not being able to escape. Trapped.
CAITLIN: Imagine that. Look how bright and sunny it is. You’re always saying you want to get a tan and it’s sunny all the time there.
BARRY: It was sunny in Bognor.
CAITLIN: It was windy too. Then rainy. In quick succession.
BARRY: I’ll have a word with the boss. But don’t get your hopes up. You know how important my job is.
CAITLIN: *From what I have gathered, Barry’s job mostly consists of pressing a yellow button at regular intervals and playing tiddlywinks in his lunch hour.* Barry?
BARRY: There is a documentary on crustaceans in a minute. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.
CAITLIN: Do you love me?
BARRY: Did you know lobsters are blue normally, not that pinky-orange colour. They only turn pinky-orange when you cook them. Isn’t that interesting.
CAITLIN: Riveting.
BARRY: What are you doing tomorrow?
CAITLIN: In the morning I’m going Christmas shopping with Jan and Marjorie.
BARRY: A triumvirate of retail shoppers.
CAITLIN: *It’s not just me, is it? That is irritating: rephrasing something to make it more complicated. He was watching a documentary on Romans earlier, hence the triumvirate thing.*
BARRY: Are you free in the afternoon?
CAITLIN: I expect so.
BARRY: I thought we could go to the zoo.
CAITLIN: That’ll be nice. I’ll meet you there shall I, rather than come all the way home and back again.
BARRY: Do you want to watch that crustacean documentary?
CAITLIN: I think I will go to bed. I’m that tired.
BARRY: Sleep well, love.
TV NARRATOR: And now on UK Docu-world, The Truth About Lobsters. (Fade down.) All you could want to know about the mating habits of the lobster.
SCENE 5
(Automatic door, footsteps, background voices.)
TRAM ANNOUNCER: Next stop, Cathedral Yard.
JANICE: Do you think Vicky will like these? They’re not too flashy?
MARJORIE: No, Jan, they’re just lovely.
JANICE: I wanted it to be special, after last year’s disaster.
MARJORIE: Let’s not bring all that up again. The less said about that the better.
JANICE: Well, how was I supposed to know? They were pink, she likes pink. No one tells me nothing.
MARJORIE: It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Just a misunderstanding, that’s all, Jan.
JANICE: What do you think, Cait?
CAITLIN: I’m sorry?
JANICE: Will her Vicky like these?
CAITLIN: How could she not. They’re beautiful, Jan.
JANICE: I hope she does. I couldn’t bear all the screaming again. Not this Christmas.
(A contemplative silence.)
JANICE: What were you thinking about?
CAITLIN: When?
JANICE: Just then, when I asked you if you thought her Vicky would like these.
CAITLIN: Oh, nothing.
MARJORIE: I know what she was thinking about.
JANICE: Do you? What was she thinking about, Marjorie?
MARJORIE: Damien.
JANICE: (Squawking.) Damien! Damien from art class!
MARJORIE: Dishy Damien.
CAITLIN: I was not.
MARJORIE: You were.
JANICE: Were you, Cait? Were you thinking about Damien?
CAITLIN: Actually I was thinking why you even bothered to buy her Vicky anything. She never says thank you.
MARJORIE: Look Jan, I think we’ve hit a nerve.
JANICE: Have we? Have we touched a nerve, Cait?
CAITLIN: No. I was thinking about what to cook Barry for dinner.
JANICE: It’s okay if you were, Caitlin. You can tell us. I think about Damien all the time. I like to pretend it’s him when Gavin’s-
MARJORIE: This is our stop, Janice. See you Monday, Caitlin.
CAITLIN: *So what if I was thinking about Damien. What’s wrong with that? You can’t help thinking things, feeling things. I wouldn’t if I could help it. I’ve tried not to, but it’s like when someone says ‘don’t think of rabbits’. You can’t help but think of rabbits. It’s Freudian or something. Barry watched a documentary on it. I like Damien and I shouldn’t. I’m with Barry and that’s that.
I’m going to end it with Barry. There, I’ve said it now. Barry and I are over. Now all I have to do is tell him.*
TRAM ANNOUNCER: Next stop West Street.
(Automatic doors, voices etc.)
DAMIEN: Hello.
CAITLIN: What? Oh, I’m sorry. Hello. Sorry.
DAMIEN: It’s alright.
CAITLIN: I didn’t recognise you fully clothed… Oh god, sorry, I bet you hear that all the time don’t you. Sorry.
DAMIEN: Where are you heading?
CAITLIN: The zoo.
DAMIEN: The zoo?
CAITLIN: My boyfriend has a thing about animals. (Pause.) Not that kind of a thing. He likes to know things. Not just about animals. Aqueducts, Bette Midler, the Bible Code.
DAMIEN: I’m not following. Sorry.
CAITLIN: Don’t be. I was being obscure on purpose. What about you. Where are you bound?
DAMIEN: Railway station. I’m popping home for a week. Delivering presents.
CAITLIN: You won’t be home for Christmas?
DAMIEN: I thought I’d give the family histrionics a miss this year.
CAITLIN: No such luck for me. I’ve the full shebang. My parents, my boyfriend’s family.
DAMIEN: I wish you didn’t.
CAITLIN: So do I.
DAMIEN: I meant you having a boyfriend. I wish you didn’t.
CAITLIN: I know what you meant.
DAMIEN: Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. It was a mistake.
CAITLIN: I’m glad you’ve said it.
DAMIEN: I couldn’t leave things the way they were.
CAITLIN: No.
DAMIEN: If I had known you were with someone when I first met you I wouldn’t have- I’d have kept my distance a bit more.
CAITLIN: Yes.
DAMIEN: Still think we could have had fun. You and me. I’d never try and get in the way of someone else’s relationship but I think we could have had a good chance.
(Pause.)
CAITLIN: Hang on. Aren’t you going to the station?
DAMIEN: (Sheepishly.) Yes.
CAITLIN: We’re going the wrong way. You got on the wrong tram. Oh, I see.
DAMIEN: I saw you through the window. Sorry. I wanted to give you this, before I go. (Zip opening, rustling paper.) It’s not much. I’m sorry.
CAITLIN: All we seem to say to each other is sorry.
DAMIEN: Sorry.
(They laugh.)
CAITLIN: Should I open it now?
DAMIEN: Go on. Like I said, it’s not much.
CAITLIN: You’re wrong. It’s fantastic. Pencils. All different grades.
DAMIEN: I thought as you continued to get better, you might need some better pencils.
DORIAN: (A different microphone should be used here, to suggest an almost god-like voice looking over proceedings. Indistinguishable background voices can also be heard, the same as in the art classes.) Sometimes, with art and particularly with drawing, one must take a risk. We have to reposition a tree in a sketch because the balance is wrong or insert another figure to give a proper sense of perspective. Sometimes the biggest risk of all is to be entirely honest and draw exactly what you see, to give in to truth rather than fight against it.
DAMIEN: I’d better get off at the next stop and turn around.
CAITLIN: Yes. Thank you for the pencils.
DAMIEN: I’ll see you in class in a couple of weeks.
TRAM ANNOUNCER: Stopping.
DAMIEN: Bye.
CAITLIN: Don’t go. (Silence.) Stay.
SCENE 6
(Fade up on footsteps and a jangling of keys.)
DAMIEN: Before we go in, can I just say something?
CAITLIN: *He’s sweet isn’t he. Polite. And so sweet. I haven’t felt like this for a long time. Maybe I’ve never felt like this.*
DAMIEN: I want to apologise in advance for the state of my room. I’ve been repainting it.
CAITLIN: Your room? I thought you’d invited me in for a cup of tea.
DAMIEN: Oh god. I’m sorry. I assumed we’d established a subtext.
CAITLIN: I’m teasing you. *See, totally, adorable.*
DAMIEN: Thank god for that. I also want to apologise for my flatmate. She’s a little ‘out there’, quirky. But she’s nice.
(Door opening.)
GLORIA: Hello! You must be Catalina.
CAITLIN: Caitlin.
GLORIA: Close enough. Hmm, you look different.
CAITLIN: Really?
GLORIA: I remember you having shorter hair. I can’t get everything right.
CAITLIN: Have we met before?
DAMIEN: (Quietly.) She’s clairvoyant.
GLORIA: She doesn’t believe in that kind of thing, do you sweetness?
CAITLIN: My horoscope is normally wrong.
GLORIA: See? Well, aren’t you a picture. I told Damien, I see great happiness in his future. (Doubtfully.) And coconuts. But happiness with a beautiful woman.
CAITLIN: I wouldn’t go so far as top say-
GLORIA: Nonsense. Isn’t she beautiful Damien?
DAMIEN: I think she’s gorgeous.
GLORIA: I’m glad I got something right today. Mrs Healey still can’t find her Mr Bojangles. Missing four days now. I told her, I cannot control the Eye, I’m only a cipher through which it pours the mysteries of the future. Would you like some cheese, sweetness? To help you dream. I always find a chunk of Double Gloucester does the trick.
CAITLIN: Can’t be any harm in it. Thank you.
GLORIA: You’re welcome. (Going.) Sweet dreams. (Door closes.)
DAMIEN: I’m sorry about that.
CAITLIN: She’s wonderful. And thank you. For saying what you said.
DAMIEN: I only say things I mean.
SCENE 7
(Fade up on a single violin playing a mid tempo, preferably lilting, tune. It should suggest either the sea or something Irish. It plays throughout the monologue.)
CAITLIN: Sex is quite a small word isn’t it? Lots of small words are important. War is one. Faith is another. A few letters can mean so much. For me, I could take it or leave it. Sex that is, not war or faith. I was disappointed when I first had sex. I was fifteen, on a caravanning holiday with my parents in Cornwall. I let a boy called Dave, three caravans down, do me on a li-lo. The world did not shudder beneath me like I had expected it to. The li-lo deflated, but that was about it. A bit of fumbling, a bit of pain, a bit more fumbling, Dave swearing quite indecent things on top of me and there we go. After the third time I thought I was doing it wrong. My best friend, Marianne who lived next door, she was like me, her parents were Irish immigrants like mine, we all shared a car to church. But she was an Indie girl like me. Rebellious. Marianne had been seeing Dougie for two years. One evening we were sitting in my room, smoking, listening to Adam Ant in my radio and I told her what had happened on holiday.
‘You’ve had sex’, she said.
‘Three times’, I said.
‘You are such a slut Caitlin O’Gara’, she said, putting out her cigarette and slamming the door behind her. I misjudged her level of bohemianism; the guilt must have got her early. Poor Dougie. I always thought he looked a little taut.
That was my introduction to the world of sex. It sounds sordid hearing it back.
It wasn’t sordid with Damien. It was good. I’ve always thought sex would be better if you didn’t have legs. It would be easier to get on with it, less clumsy. If only legs were detachable. We kept laughing, it all seemed so funny. We tried talking dirty but it sounded so ridiculous we rolled around in hysterics. When he was in me, it wasn’t quite so funny, but it was comfortable. For once it was comfortable.
Afterwards, when he fell asleep, I spent five minutes looking at him. He has a scar on his shoulder. A big wonky scar, like he’s had an operation. His right nostril is just slightly smaller than his left. Where his arm meets his body, there is exactly three pleats of skin. Little details. I fell asleep counting his freckles, knowing that everything would seem different in the morning.
(Fade down on violin.)
SCENE 8
(Fade up on waves rolling slowly in and out, parrots squawking.)
CAITLIN: Damien! Damien!
DAMIEN: What?
CAITLIN: Damien, where are we?
DAMIEN: Sheffield, when I last looked.
CAITLIN: Look again. I don’t think South Yorkshire has a coast does it?
DAMIEN: Christ the light is bright. Can you close the curtains?
CAITLIN: There are no curtains.
(Ruffling of material.)
DAMIEN: Of course there are curt- what the hell?
CAITLIN: How did we get here?
DAMIEN: Is this a trick? Am I still asleep?
CAITLIN: I don’t think so. I can feel the sand.
DAMIEN: Pinch me.
CAITLIN: Pinch you?
DAMIEN: You pinch me and I’ll pinch you and we’ll wake up back in bed.
CAITLIN: I don’t want to pinch you.
DAMIEN: We must be hallucinating. I left a lid off a paint can or something. Pinch me.
CAITLIN: After three. One, two, three.
CAITLIN & DAMIEN: Ow!
DAMIEN: That hurt.
CAITLIN: So did mine.
DAMIEN: I had to make sure.
CAITLIN: Why am I naked?
DAMIEN: Where did you leave your clothes?
CAITLIN: On your floor.
DAMIEN: Are they on the sand?
CAITLIN: No.
DAMIEN: Wrap yourself in the sheet. I’ll strip the duvet.
CAITLIN: The whole bloody bed is here but not my clothes.
DAMIEN: At least it’s warm.
CAITLIN: It’s beautiful. Look around. It’s paradise.
DAMIEN: Like from a holiday programme.
CAITLIN: This is too weird.
DAMIEN: Can you see those mountains.
CAITLIN: Is it misty up there? I can only see the outlines.
DAMIEN: It’s as though they have only been pencilled in.
CAITLIN: Look at those palm trees. Only half their leaves are green. The rest are off-white, like-
DAMIEN: Like canvas.
(Pause.)
CAITLIN: I think we should explore, try and find some help, a way back.
DAMIEN: You go left, and I’ll go right
CAITLIN: Okay.
DAMIEN: Wait, I need a good luck kiss.
CAITLIN: You daft thing. *He’s like a boy scout on an adventure, setting off on an intrepid mission. I’d love to come on holiday to a place like this. Exotic, warm, so colourful. Not like home. The colours are so vibrant here, better than I imagined Italy to be. There are parrots flying around in pairs and I can see two lizards clutching the sides of a palm tree. All the animals I can see seem to be in pairs. Like Noah’s ark. How on earth did we get here. One moment I’m counting the freckles on Damien’s face, the next, I’m in paradise. My feet are a bit hot on this sand though. I’ll just stand in a rock pool for a moment.*
HAMISH: Hello.
CAITLIN: Hello?
HAMISH: Down here in the rock pool.
CAITLIN: But I don’t see anyone.
HAMISH: The lobster. See?
CAITLIN: You’re a talking lobster?
HAMISH: Is there any other kind?
CAITLIN: Well actually, there are several different types of lobster. So I’m told.
HAMISH: You’re a newbie, aren’t you? You have that confused look on your face. You’ve only just got here haven’t you?
CAITLIN: I woke up on the beach
HAMISH: Where’s your ‘gentleman friend’?
CAITLIN: How do you know if I’ve a ‘gentleman friend’.
HAMISH: Or a ‘lady friend’. No one’s judging. But there has to be two to tango, as it were. We do get groups occasionally, but the don’t tend to be return visitors.
CAITLIN: But we weren’t-. We haven’t-
HAMISH: Look sweetheart, I ain’t going to tell anybody. Who’s going to believe a talking lobster? Let me tell you how it happened. You and your ‘gentleman friend’ have just finished your business and you drifted off into a warm, fuzzy state of unconsciousness and next thing you know, you wake up in paradise and now you want to get back to your real world. It happens all the time.
CAITLIN: Am I hallucinating?
HAMISH: I wish you wee luvvie. I’ve been stuck here for the best part of a year. All alone. No other lobsters seem to have arrived.
CAITLIN: Where’s your lady friend. I presume there is a ‘lady friend’.
HAMISH: Aye, that there was. We got here the same as you. I’d just released my lobster sperm, closed my eyes for a minute and found myself and the missus washed up in the beach.
CAITLIN: Where’s your wife now?
HAMISH: Gone, luvvie, gone! (He sobs.)
CAITLIN: I’m sorry. I hope it wasn’t a painful departure.
HAMISH: She’d have only a felt a little heat and dozed off. Never to wake up again.
CAITLIN: Well that’s some comfort.
HAMISH: At least she went in a good cause. I can console myself with that. No one went hungry that night.
CAITLIN: You mean she was eaten.
HAMISH: Aye, it is the best way to go I suppose. Dignified.
CAITLIN: I’m very sorry for your loss, but do you know a way out of here?
HAMISH: I’ll show you the way out of here if you promise to take me with you. Paradise has become a bit boring with no one to share it with.
CAITLIN: I promise.
HAMISH: Is that your ‘gentleman friend’ now.
DAMIEN: (Approaching.) It’s definitely an island. A big island.
CAITLIN: Damien, this is – sorry – I didn’t catch your name.
HAMISH: Hamish.
CAITLIN: Hamish. Hamish, Damien.
DAMIEN: Is he a talking lobster?
CAITLIN: I thought I was going crazy, but I’d believe anything at the moment
HAMISH: I’m right here you know.
CAITLIN & DAMIEN: Sorry.
DAMIEN: I didn’t find any boats but there were some other footprints in the sand. There could be an indigenous tribe. They might be friendly.
.
HAMISH: Not to lobsters.
CAITLIN: Hamish here seems to know a way back.
HAMISH: Aye. There’s a portal, under the water just off the rock. See that patch of water darker than the rest.
DAMIEN: Yes.
HAMISH: Through that. There used to be a sign, until the locals used it for firewood.
CAITLIN: Shall we?
DAMIEN: It’s worth a try.
(Sloshing of water.)
CAITLIN: Hold my hand.
DAMIEN: I’ve got you.
(A loud splash. Fade down on rolling waves.)
SCENE 9
(Fade up on a single violin playing a mid tempo, preferably lilting, tune. It should suggest either the sea or something Irish. It plays throughout the monologue.)
CAITLIN: We fell hard onto the floor, the bed was still on the beach. Damien and I just lay there in silence for a few minutes, the wet sheets clinging to our bodies, Hamish crawling around the floor, asking to be submerged in something. I put him in a stew pot, full of water and took him back to mine. He was quite happy in the bath, especially with a little foam from fairy liquid. He was especially fond of foam.
That night, Barry and I had sex; I wanted to see if he could take me to an exotic beach. I waited and waited, even counting the folds of skin on his body and memorizing scars. But nothing. Crestfallen, I went to the bath room, sat on the loo and talked to Hamish. He had invented a throwing game with the rubber ducks.
‘Barry didn’t take me to the island’, I said.
‘Of course he didn’t: you don’t love him’, he said.
‘I do’, I protested.
‘No you don’t. That’s the way it works. Why do you think in love couples walk about all dozy, giggling and whispering; they’re talking about their special place. You only get to go there with someone you love.’
‘But I don’t love Damien’, I said.
‘Aye, you do. Or you’d never have got to the island’, he was beginning to sound bored.
‘I’m engaged to Barry’.
‘If you want my advice, darling, leave him. It’s only fair. You’re stopping him reaching his island if you stay with him’.
(Fade down violin.)
SCENE 10
(Fade up on background voices, mostly indistinguishable. These voices are present throughout the scene, but quieten in volume during dialogue.)
DORIAN: Today we shall be concentrating on the form of the back. We can see that there is as much to appreciate and study on the reverse of the human form. I shall be asking Damien to move his arms and twist his torso to show you how the muscle structure is affected.
MARJORIE: (Quietly.) And the way his arse wiggles. He could peel eggs with those buttocks.
JANICE: (Giggling.) I’m not even sure I know what that means.
MARJORIE: I bet it’s as soft as silk and all.
JANICE: You do talk dirty sometimes, Marjorie.
CAITLIN: It is soft, but more like warm leather.
MARJORIE: How would you know?
JANICE: You haven’t!
MARJORIE: She has. Look at her face. Like the cat that got the cream.
JANICE: What was he like, Cait. I bet he was gentle.
MARJORIE: I want details, descriptions and diagrams.
CAITLIN: You’re not getting anything.
MARJORIE: I bet he were crap.
JANICE: I think he’d be lovely.
CAITLIN: He was.
DORIAN: Should my ears be burning ladies?
CAITLIN: We were just saying how much we enjoy these classes, Dorian.
DORIAN: I do my best. Well, that’s have a look at your sketches. That’s excellent, Caitlin. You have developed a fine eye for detail. What’s this here?
CAITLIN: It’s a scar from when he fell off his bike when he was sixteen.
DORIAN: Right, I see.
CAITLIN: And this little lump here is where he had his jabs when he went to India last summer.
DORIAN: It really is remarkable what we can learn about a person by the bumps and bruises on their body. Remarkable!
JANICE: Ah, remarkable.
DORIAN: (In distance.) Now, Marjorie. I am disappointed. (Tearing of paper.) I’m afraid I let the moment take me again.
(Fade down on ruffling paper and background voices.)
SCENE 11
(Fade up on a single violin playing a mid tempo, preferably lilting, tune. It should suggest either the sea or something Irish. It plays throughout the monologue.)
CAITLIN: Barry took it quite well when I told him it was over. He didn’t seem particularly upset. He asked if I had met someone else and I told him the truth. I owed him that much. He said he would roll with the punches, keep ducking and diving, take it on the chin. I never realised he knew so many boxing metaphors. He’d just finished watching a documentary on Muhammad Ali. I suppose our break up was a good opportunity to test out some new vocabulary.
I’ve spent the day packing up my belongings. There’s not that much to be honest. I’ve put all the clothes I won’t need into plastic bags, to be taken to charity shops tomorrow. Everything else will go into storage. I’ve rented a unit. Paid ten years in advance, just in case. Who knows, paradise might get boring.
Tomorrow Damien and I are taking Hamish to the coast. Hamish wants to find his old haunts, maybe settle down again, start a family. Then Damien and I are going to find a hotel, a nice one, with thick curtains and square pillows, pile up all the stuff we want to take on the bed, and wake up on a beach thousands of miles away.
(Fade down violin.)
EPILOGUE 1
DORIAN: It can be a strange experience. Painting and drawing can awaken deep, lost thoughts that we did not know lay within us, until we see them splashed across a piece of canvas. I myself have been commissioned to paint a huge canvas of a pacific island, and every time I return to it, it seems somehow richer and fuller, as though it is growing right in front of me. Sometimes I think I can even taste the salt air on my lips after I’ve been working on the painting.
Right. Does everyone have a pencil?
CHORUS: Yes, Dorian.
DORIAN: Then you may begin.
EPILOGUE 2 (May be Omitted.)
(Knocking on door, followed by door opening.)
GLORIA: Hello? Can I help you?
BARRY: Yes. I’m Barry.
GLORIA: Are you?
BARRY: Yes
GLORIA: Are you sure?
BARRY: Positive. I’ve come to look at the room.
GLORIA: I thought you would be taller.
BARRY: Did you? Well I don’t think I’m going to grow anymore.
GLORIA: Unless you get gigantism.
BARRY: Did you see that documentary last night?
GLORIA: It was fascinating wasn’t it. There’s one on dwarfism tonight. I think it’s a series.
(Short pause.)
BARRY: Can I see the room?
GLORIA: Of course you can. Come in. I think we’ll get along famously.
BARRY: Thank you.
THE END