Drama

One Last Time

by Doug Dunn

 Joyful violin music plays as the red velvet curtain rises. The set is a contrast to the curtain and music. It is an old dressing room with a small table (white with water glass stains and chipped legs) and a similar chair downstage left. The walls are hastily whitewashed with grubby fingerprints. There is a shelf upstage with two empty milk bottles on it, a lightbulb swings above covered with a tatty shade missing half the tassels. On the walls are halves of posters which have been hurriedly torn off. A new black poster advertising ‘`Theatre’ by W Somerset Maugham has been shoved on top at a wrong angle. There is a chair behind the one door (centre upstage) which is bare wood and appears to stick. An empty costume rail with three coat hangers (upstage right) is falling apart and there is a grubby mirror (downstage right) propped against the wall. A cheap IKEA clock hangs above the door.

 Silence. Lene enters, she is nearing seventy, has short white hair, wears a 1920s style smart blue suit, nicely cut and carries a large sports bag. She is an actress and with every step conveys vitality. A successful acting career has imbued her with confidence, but her age slows her up. She also wears a straw boater which she immediately puts on the shelf. She stops and surveys the dressing room for some time.

LENE

            Oh fucking hell.

She sits at the table.

            I mean, I’ve seen some bad ones. But... this takes the piss! God!

She looks around.

            It’s a dump! Oh my... when you think of what I used to get, what I used to have...

She leans forward and talks to the audience.

            I mean... if it was you... well... ergh! I’m Magdalene by the way - my parents honestly liked it - but if you call me that I will either ignore or dislike you. Call me Lene, it’s uh... more suitable for an actress. For a seventy-odd actress auditioning for a part she won’t even get! It’s not as if I could even... oh my god. It’s such a hole!

She puts her bag on the table and takes out two photographs in frames and sets them up. She stands, puts the milk bottles outside the door with some difficulty. She slides the mirror onto two hooks that are on the wall and cleans it with her handkerchief. She takes out a glamorous costume from the bag and puts it on the rail. It collapses. She sighs, and slots the rail together again and hangs the costume back on it. She sits down, takes out make up and a mirror from the bag and puts them on the table. She starts applying the make up.

            That’s better. Oh God I’m old. Look at those wrinkles... my mother used to say that wisdom comes with every wrinkle. Hah! I don’t even know my times tables. No that’s right! I don’t know the basics! Why haven’t you fainted yet? No, I was never great at school. My great-niece Cassandra - oh don’t you just pity her? My family seem to obsess with torturing their offspring - she says her other granny (she calls me granny even though I’m her granny’s sister) she says her other granny was very well behaved, played all her cards right and followed all the rules from school onwards. She thought I was too. But I wasn’t. I got pregnant by seventeen. Yes that’s right! Why does every generation believe they’ve discovered they’ve discovered sex? I was the wild crazy truanting girl. I was the one who had to be strong against everyone. They all called me the “strong” one. The one who stood up to everyone with their ‘principles’ and always just wanted a quiet life.

She recollects.

God, life was fun. Then I had that abortion. I don’t know if it was illegal... but I think so. It was in a grotty room - not far from this actually - and there was this little bent over woman who poured in this... ugh. I don’t know if I regret it now of course. I probably do really. But I was too young. I loathed myself straight after naturally - it’s the done thing. But time fades things.

She looks at herself in the mirror and laughs. Her laugh is alluring, with a hint of cackle.

Including my face! But no... kids was never an option after that. I’ve never had children. It’s not that I don’t care... God no! Cassie’s one of my favourite people! But after that experience... I believe I’m... well [chuckles] traumatised! If I’d had a child I reckon I would’ve always wondered about that first one. What it was, what it could have been. I could’ve been the start of my own dynasty... but no. No, it’s best not to get into all that.

She stands and unravels the costume. It is a glamorous film-star sort of dress, with sparkling material and a blue sash. She goes behind the rail and quickly changes into it. She emerges looking quite different.

            Oh I had such fun then... now look! An ageing actress auditioning to play... an ageing actress. Not that it’s not a good role. It’s a main part; Julia the actress. She has an affair with a younger man. I’ve done that. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Hah! But... still. It’s hardly Clytaemnestra. I played that to a standing ovation. I had brilliant roles you know.

She sits again and takes a fading auburn wig out of her bag and starts pinning it on.

I played Sally Bowles once... a million years ago. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t sing... she’s not supposed to sing well. [She sings, with some skill] What good is sitting/ alone in your room? Come hear/ the music play... I don’t like that. I know it sounds like I would, but life isn’t just a game. It’s not just a song and dance and it certainly shouldn’t all go ‘my way’. That sort of thing makes people too relaxed. You’ve only got a few years here, you might as well use them. I know people who have that attitude, and they generally drifted, some of them became parts of cults. It’s a dramatic thing to say, but cults are evil. I’ve seen what it does to people.

She thinks and smiles wryly.

I think I’ve experienced most things really now.

She stares at the audience.

You’d better not think that I’m a luvvie. A bimbo. Just because I witter on and chat. That doesn’t make me good or bad or stupid. Just... an actress. I’ve lived. I started living a bit too young is all really.

She contemplates.

It’s just as an actress you gain a different view of people. My non-theatre friends were all derogatory about what they called “niggers” - terribly un-PC now of course, but common back then. But I wasn’t. My first boyfriend was black. He was 24, I was 22. He played Romeo, I played... the Nurse.

She laughs.

Not Juliet! There are so many roles I wish I’d played. Not sexy, romantic roles but fun ones. The Nurse was one of them, with her bewailing and comedy. This one might be fun... at least she’s not cliched. The young ones are more common, but I missed most of those auditions because I was stoned out of my head.

She challenges the audience again.

Go on! Disapprove! I see your noses quivering with rage! A girl who had an abortion, who took drugs. Can’t be bothered. A waster. Well no, actually. Jackie put me on drugs. He was my third. But he moved on to harder stuff and it was when I woke up and smelt the crack cocaine that I realised where I was. I dumped him and started my real life on the stage. Whenever I was angry, or sad, or self-loathing... I took it to the stage with me. I didn’t follow the Actor’s Rule of leaving it all behind, no no. People loved it as well. They saw a depressed Lulu in The Birthday Party and they were moved. They adored me. It gives an interpretation, it fleshes a character out, makes them real.

She pauses, remembering the past glories.

But then of course, gender came into play its nasty little game and bang! As a woman after 40, you’re dead as far as producers are concerned. I gave it up after they started offering me parts like First Old Crone. When you see that’s happening then you start to just go... that’s it. My zenith is over. I haven’t been anywhere near the boards since my last role as Candida.

She puts on the boater. It’s somehow suiting yet ridiculous.

Incongruous much? After that last, great role, I said “that’s it girl. You’ve played out your game here. There’s nothing left.

Silence.

But you miss it. You miss the smell of the paint... the director’s shouts... the bitching... the gossiping... the very essence of that spark that makes a good play brilliant. 8am till 9pm rehearsals and always scrimping for more cash to pay your rent in a tiny little underheated attic room. The frantic but silent gesturing after a missed entrance... and more bizarre things, like the stagehands whispers... the paint-stained mugs... the rumpled graffitied script... I had this friend Johnny who used to draw dragons with the directors’ faces on them... finally belonging. I missed that so much. People spend their lives wishing they were in Narnia, but here was mine. I was actually there. And after I left... I just wanted to come back.

Silence.

I suppose it’s all gone really. I won’t get this part. I’m too far gone. I’m too old. I’m... I’m done.

She takes off the hat and sits down, suddenly depressed.

I wish it wasn’t in me. This... spark. My friend Freddie called it “the fire behind the eyes”. [She mimics his voice] ‘You’ve got that alright Lene! You’re so fiery you burn me up on stage. You’re a dragon’. Hah! Actors are the loveliest people. They... they really are.

She leans forward, revealing a hint of forgotten pride.

I remember I was once working with this unknown director once and he took me aside and said “Lene, you’re going to make it. I won’t but you will.” He kept staring at me and saying “Do it for me, for all of us forgotten ones”. Strange man. He was a bit intense really, now I look back.

Pause.

But maybe he was right. Hang my bloody age! I did make it! I am still here! I’ll damn well go out on that stage right now and show ‘em! I don’t wish the flame had died because then I would too! So I’m going to do this. One last time.

She brings out a more elegant, Hollywood style hat out of her bag and puts it on, her appearance now transformed to a Hollywood Belle. She stands, and with poise walks to the door and opens it. She turns back.

One Last Time!

She surveys the room, laughs loudly and shuts the door.

FIN.

Doug Dunn