The Second Half of the Double Feature, page 32
RUSSELL: It’s been a rough go, hasn’t it?
ALYCE: It was at first, because I was so stupid. I tried to get a job, and I didn’t know how to do anything. I’ve got a good job now, though—
RUSSELL: When did your mother die?
ALYCE: Fourteen months ago. She always used to say to me, “Alyce, go out. Don’t stay at home now. Get something out of life.” Mother worried about me all the time. She was afraid all this might ruin my life. And maybe it has—I don’t know . . .
RUSSELL: Don’t worry, baby. I’ll work something out for you.
ALYCE: No, Russell. There isn’t anything to work out. It’s hopeless now, and only time can work out anything. When I told you I hadn’t gone out with anyone—on a date or anything—it was god’s truth. And Blackie is the reason why. Down at the parking garage where I work, not even the boss knows that I’m married—and I’ve been asked for dates plenty of times. A cashier is supposed to be fair game, I guess. But everybody down there thinks that I’m just an old maid who’s afraid of men. I can’t bring anyone home, because of Blackie, and even if one of the other girls asks me to dinner or something I can’t go because I can’t return the invitation.
RUSSELL: What’s your reluctance to send him to a state institution? That’s what they’re for—and besides, it isn’t up to you, is it? The judge commits him, not you personally.
ALYCE: No. I won’t send him back. He didn’t like the expensive private sanitarium, and it was a beautiful place. He’d die if I sent him to the state hospital. And he is getting better. Up there he’d only get worse. Blackie needs a home. Security. A place where he feels wanted.
RUSSELL: You aren’t a doctor. What can you do?
ALYCE: He’s much better, Russell. Honestly. (She laughs.) You should’ve seen him when I first brought him home! He was like a wild man around here. If he keeps on improving, maybe I can get him a nice outdoor job on a farm or a ranch. He likes to work with his hands; it’s like training for him.
RUSSELL: Are you so much in love with him, then? Do you really love this old-timer so much?
ALYCE: (Bitterly) Love him? I hate him! I never did like him, and now I detest him!
RUSSELL: Really? Why’d you marry him, then? There must have been something. He must be at least twenty years older than you!
ALYCE: More than that. He was a friend of my father’s. There isn’t anything unusual about what happened; it happens all the time. When my father was alive Blackie used to visit us, and the two of them would sit around drinking beer and talking about Stanley Ketchel. My father thought Blackie was a better fighter than Ketchel. After Father died, Blackie came around and visited Mother. He got her an apartment house to manage, and we got our apartment rent-free. He was just a—what you’d call a friend of the family, I guess. But what he was really doing—and Mother didn’t realize it either—was waiting for me to grow up. Father didn’t leave much insurance, and Mother was busy trying to learn how to manage the apartment house. Blackie brought me presents everytime he called. He let me drive his car. And then he started to give me money, small sums at first—and I took it without telling Mother. Then he gave me more money; he would take me downtown and let me buy clothes—anything I wanted. So when he asked me to marry him, about a week after I finished high school, I was in debt to him. There was no way out.
RUSSELL: That's an awful story, Alyce. I consider myself as a pretty keen observer, but I never dreamed that you were married. I mean, the way you act and everything—you and Blackie . . . and wifely duties . . .
ALYCE: You’re getting very personal now . . .
RUSSELL: I’m the personable type.
(Lights cigarette, examines the tip.)
Mr Haxby wanted to know; Mr Haxby found out. Best taste yet—in a filter cigarette.
ALYCE: All right—I’ve gone this far—I might as well tell you the rest. I don’t expect to see you again, anyway. So if you must know, Blackie sleeps in a small bedroom beyond mine. After he goes to sleep at night, I lock his door. I am always the first one up in the morning, and then I unlock his door. That’s all there is to it.
RUSSELL: And how long has this been going on?
ALYCE: Several years. We haven’t . . . slept together since before he got sick . . . some time before.
RUSSELL: How did you get him to agree to that kind of an arrangement?
ALYCE: I—I don’t know; it sort of arranged itself, in a way. I’m not very proud of myself; I know what a wife is supposed to do. But I didn’t know anything when I got married, not a thing. I was only eighteen, and I just thought it meant having a man living in the house—like Daddy being home again. Only Blackie would be my husband instead of Mother’s. I couldn’t understand why Blackie didn’t want Mother to come along when we drove to Reno to get married . . . And then, after we got married, and I found out what Blackie wanted to do to me I got hysterical. He had to get the hotel doctor to come up to the room and give me a shot.
RUSSELL: (Grinning) That must’ve been some honeymoon.
ALYCE: Don’t laugh at me; it was terrible, that’s all, as all ignorance is terrible. We drove back the next morning, and then I had a long talk with Mother. She told me then what she should’ve told me before I got married.
RUSSELL: I can’t understand such innocence—not in a city like San Francisco. Didn’t you ever have any girlfriends in school to discuss such things with?
ALYCE: No. Mother always took me to school and then picked me up afterwards. And after Daddy died and she had the apartment house to manage I had to help her. So I didn’t go out or anything. I never had a date with a boy my own age. I was awfully fat in school, and that had something to do with my not having dates, I guess. Can’t we talk about something else?
RUSSELL: Yeah. How’d you work things out with Blackie after your talk with your mother?
ALYCE: I married him because I was indebted to him, and I had to pay off my debts, that’s all. You wouldn’t be interested, but I worked out a schedule for him, that’s all.
RUSSELL: A schedule! And you think I wouldn’t be interested! Why that’s the most marvelous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s not only logical, it’s a continuation of the All-American Way of Life. A man is scheduled for school, scheduled by IBM cards for college, married on-schedule—some time between twenty-one and twenty-five—and follows a schedule on his job. And then through promotion schedules he attains a terminal sinecure and retirement. So why not schedule his sex life as well? How did you work it out? Tuesdays and Thursdays? And what about Sundays and holidays? What a fool I’ve been to stay single all these years. I could’ve had a lovely, well-regulated sex life; and instead, I drive all over San Francisco in my Continental without knowing where or when my next piece is coming from—
ALYCE: Now you’re being vulgar . . . and cruel, besides . . .
RUSSELL: Sure, I’m cruel, but you’re kindly Alyce, aren’t you? You bring home stray tomcats and keep them nicely penned—well-fed, well-petted, and you give them plenty of water. And poor old Blackie. Scheduled love, up to a point—so long as you feel indebted, and then you cut him off. When he’s sick, you send him to the hospital like your little dog—Spiky, the cripple with two front feet missing. Did the idea ever occur to you that part ot Blackie’s so-called sickness is your fault?
ALYCE: I think you’d better go.
RUSSELL: I’m not going anywhere.
(He paces the floor.)
Last night I walked into a public dance hall with nothing on my mind except to kill an hour or so. And there you were—smiling at me. Eve. The most sophisticated woman in the world. In your tailored suit you stood out like—well, you didn’t belong there. Every other woman there looked common—just because you were there. And I said to myselt, “That’s for me.” Now I’m involved in the most complicated affair in the City of St. Francis—
ALYCE: You aren’t involved in anything. You can walk out the door, and it's all over. But I can’t walk out.
RUSSELL: No, I’m staying. I like it here. I believe in you, Alyce. And, as I said before, I’m in love with you.
ALYCE: There isn’t any solution. There’s nothing you can do.
RUSSELL: Thinking back, though, I’m a little surprised at your mother. It seems to me that she—
ALYCE: Don’t say anything about my mother! She was a saint!
RUSSELL: Sure. I guess she was at that. Now let’s talk about Blackie; he’s something of a saint himself.
ALYCE: I shouldn’t have told you anything! I shouldn’t have asked you in last night, and I shouldn’t have asked you to come back today. Please, Russell, don’t ever say anything to anybody about Blackie.
RUSSELL: Say anything? What do you mean?
ALYCE: Don’t say anything to anybody; that’s what I mean. It my boss ever found out I was married I’d lose my job. He doesn’t hire married women.
RUSSELL: You really are confused, kid. I’m not going to say anything, baby. Don’t you trust me? I’m probably the nicest guy you’ve ever met.
ALYCE: I—I—I don’t know . . . I’m all mixed up. I was lonesome, so lonesome . . . I liked you, and . . .
(She begins to sob.)
RUSSELL: (He pulls her down to the couch, puts his arm about her shoulder.) Don’t. For god’s sake, don’t cry.
(He kisses her gently on the cheek, on her lips, and strokes her leg. Alyce begins to respond.)
I told you I’d work something out. Now stop crying.
BLACKIE: (Enters. Stands in doorway watching as Russell and Alyce kiss. Alyce dabs at her eyes, and breaks away.)
I put the hamburger in the kitchen.
(Russell gets to his feet, puts his hand in the pocket that contains knife, and leaves it there. Alyce stands, addresses Blackie.)
ALYCE: Did you remember to get the onions?
BLACKIE: They're in the kitchen, too.
(Exit Blackie)
ALYCE: He’s hungry; I’d better fix him something to eat.
RUSSELL: And I’d better go.
ALYCE: You don’t have to rush off. Stay and eat something. It won’t take long to fry some hamburgers.
RUSSELL: But what about—?
(He jerks his thumb toward the doorway.)
ALYCE: Oh, don’t worry about him. He forgets right away. It’s like hearing a dirty word on the radio. You don’t remember it because you don’t really believe you heard it.
RUSSELL: (Puts on his hat, rubs his jaw.) Just a second. (Excitedly) I’ve got an idea. You said that Blackie likes to work outside, in the open. Right?
ALYCE: Yes. Even now he sometimes talks about road camp, and how he used to chop wood and run eight miles every morning . . .
RUSSELL: I’ve got the solution, then. I’ve got an aunt in Sausalito who has a rooming house. It’s a big place with lots of lawn to mow, and there’s even a big garden out back. She’s always telling me how hard it is to get help. I’ll drive over there this afternoon and talk to her. She’d be happy to have a husky guy like Blackie around to do all the heavy work and all. She’ll give him a room of his own, and a job. He can putter around outside all day, and maybe he can even learn how to make beds, or clean windows and so on—
ALYCE: No, no. That wouldn’t work, Russell. Blackie wouldn’t want to leave home, and—
RUSSELL: That’s too damned bad about him—what he wants and doesn’t want to do. You just leave things to Old Russell Haxby from now on, d’you hear? I’ll drive over right now.
(Crosses to doorway.)
ALYCE: No, Russell! Wait! You can’t rush anything this important. Any change has to have a careful preparation. Blackie has to be adjusted gradually to changes of any kind.
RUSSELL: (From the doorway) Don’t worry about it, Baby. I said I’d take care of things and I will. So long for now; I’ll call you tomorrow. Have him packed and ready to go!
(He throws a kiss. Exit Russell.)
ALYCE: (She runs after him) Wait, Russell, wait!
(Quick curtain.)
ACT III
SCENE 1
SCENE: Same as Act I.
TIME : 2 a.m., one week later.
(As the curtain rises, Alyce, Ruthie, Blackie, and a Police Officer are discovered onstage. The policeman perches on the edge of a chair balancing a cap and saucer on his knee. His black slicker, still wet, and his cup and nightstick make a small pile by the side of his chair. Ruthie sits next to him in another chair, wearing bathrobe and slippers. Blackie sits in his red womb chair, and he is so wet he looks as if he had just climbed out of the bay. His shirt is soaking, and his long wet hair hangs down over his forehead. He doesn’t move his head or eyes; his eyes are fixed on the wall, and there is a blank but sullen expression on his face. In his lap, Blackie holds—clutches—his television set grimly, and it is covered with his black leather workman’s jacket. Alyce stands by the window, looking out, wearing a robe and slippers. She turns and walks to Blackie’s chair. The tone of her voice is weary; she has asked the same questions before.)
ALYCE: Blackie . . . Blackie . . . Why don’t you go to your room and change your clothes? You’ll get a cold if you don’t. Blackie, do you hear me, Blackie?
(Blackie does not look at her or respond to her presence. She returns to her place beside the window, and looks out again.)
I wish Russell would hurry up and get here.
RUTHIE: (Reassuringly) Give him time.
ALYCE: He said he’d be right over.
RUTHIE: The poor man has to get dressed. Men don’t move very fast when they first get out of bed at two in the morning, believe me.
ALYCE: (To Policeman) You don’t have to wait, Officer. My friend will be along any minute now.
POLICEMAN: Oh, that’s quite all right, Ma’am. I don’t mind staying, it’s all a part of the job. And I wouldn’t feel right about leaving when there isn’t a man around. Begging your pardon and all, but your husband gave us a conniption fit when we tried to take his television set away from him. In fact, we couldn’t manage it without hurting him, so we let him ride with it in his lap. He’s as strong as an ox.
ALYCE: Blackie wouldn’t hurt a fly.
POLICEMAN: Yes, Ma’am. But I’ll stay awhile if you don’t mind. (To Ruthie) You know, at first I thought he was drunk or something. But when I looked in his wallet and found out that he was Blackie Victor, I brought him home instead of taking him down and booking him.
RUTHIE: We’re grateful for that, Officer. Blackie doesn’t drink; I doubt if he’s ever had more than a beer or two in his whole life, if that. He was in the ring so long, he’s a little . . .
(She gestures with a forefinger.)
POLICEMAN: I understand. I used to do a little boxing. And I’ve seen Blackie fight; a wonderful left he used to have.
RUTHIE: Would you like some more coffee?
POLICEMAN: I don’t mind. This is pretty good coffee, even if it is instant. If you make instant right, it tastes as good as fresh perked.
(Ruthie fills his cup from the pot on coffee table.)
I’ll bet my partner’s sore. (He laughs) He’s down in the car listening for calls. But he can’t say nothing about me staying up here because I’m senior to him, you see. And this is, after all, official police busineess.
RUTHIE: How long have you been on the force, Officer?
POLICEMAN: Me? Ever since right after the Korean War. I was in the M.P.’s—and now I’m up for sergeant.
RUTHIE: How wonderful.
POLICEMAN: Oh, I don’t know. (Shrugs) All you gotta do is keep your nose clean.
ALYCE: (Crosses to Blackie’s chair) Why won’t you go into your bedroom and change your clothes, Blackie?
(Blackie turns his head away from her, and stares fixedly at the wall.)
What happened in Sausalito? Tell me. Why did you run away? Was Mr Haxby’s aunt mean to you in any way? If you don’t change clothes you’re liable to get pneumonia. You know that, don’t you?
RUTHIE: Can’t you see that you’re wasting your time, honey? The dummy isn’t going to tell you anything. You’d get more sense out of talking to his TV set.
ALYCE: We have to do something; we can’t let him sit there all night in those wet clothes!
POLICEMAN: (Reluctantly) If you want me to, Ma’am, I’ll try to put him to bed. But I don’t relish trying to rassle that TV set away from him. When both me and tny partner couldn’t do it, I—
RUTHIE: That’s quite all right, Officer. We’ll manage. We’ll just wait for Mr Haxby; he’ll take care of things for us.
(With a grateful sigh, the policeman sits back and drinks more of his coffee.)
ALYCE: I can’t imagine any reason in the world why Blackie would walk all the way across the Golden Gate Bridge in the driving rain. What do you suppose happened, Ruthie?
RUTHIE: Maybe his reception wasn’t so good over in Sausalito—I mean his TV reception.
ALYCE: Russell will simply have to call his aunt and find out. I don’t want to call her this early in the morning. She might not even know he’s gone.
(She shudders.)
It’s cold in here. Pour me a cup, will you please, Ruthie?
(Ruthie pours a cup of coffee for Alyce. Doorbell rings.)
That’s Russell!
(Exit Alyce, running. The policeman stands, puts on his hat and raincoat.)
RUTHIE: (Holding a cup of freshly poured coffee. To Blackie.) How about you, Blackie? Would you like a cup of nice hot coffee?
POLICEMAN: I don’t believe he can hear you, Ma’am.
RUTHIE: Oh, he can hear me all right. He’s just being stubborn, that’s all. Alyce may give him sympathy, but I won’t.
RUSSELL: (Enter Russell and Alyce. Russell is wearing a damp trenchcoat and a rain-spotted gray hat. He does not remove them throughout the scene. He stops in front of the policeman.)
It was very nice of you to wait, Officer, and I appreciate it.
(He takes out a money clip, removes a five dollar bill, and tries to hand it to the policeman.)
