Japan. Chop, chop.”
Everyone laughed. I followed, stumbling behind her. I’d done this sort of thing before, we all had; exercises of this kind were our daily bread, but I felt unprepared and anxious. I’ve got to get to Japan, I told myself. I must get to Japan, today. If I can get the money now, I’ll make the plane. I have a reservation; my bag is packed.
Marlene put her purse on the table and pulled it open, producing a leather wallet from inside. “This is my wallet,” she said. “The credit card is inside.” She dropped the wallet into the capacious purse. It had a satchel-style opening which she snapped closed. “You’ll have to open the wallet to get the card,” she added needlessly. “You come from there”—she pointed to the wings offstage right—“and I’ll come from this side.”
I went into the wings where I stood for a moment pulling my cheeks down with the palms of my hands. I’m desperate, I thought. I’ve got to get to Japan. I know Mother won’t want me to go, she won’t help me, but if I could get her credit card somehow without her knowing, I could pay for the ticket. I’ll pay her back later, once I’m settled in Japan. I stepped onto thestage and there was the table with the purse. All I had to do was open the wallet and get the card. I paused, listening—was she nearby? Was she even in the house? But there was nothing. Now’s your chance, I advised myself. Do it quickly. I rushed to the table and snapped open the purse. It was crammed with stuff, makeup, a checkbook, pens, wadded tissues, a tin of mints, but the wallet was riding on top of it all and I snatched it, glancing behind me, though I knew very well that Mother wouldn’t surprise me from that direction. That backward glance stymied me—it was forced, something from vaudeville, the anxious thief fearing apprehension. I imagined Meisner chortling at my ineptitude, my loss of focus. The wallet, I thought, just get the card before she comes in. I lifted the snap and the wallet flopped open like a book. There were three credit cards on one side, the shiny edges visible above the thin leather sheaths, like toast in a toaster. On the other side was a plasticized pocket designed for a driver’s license. My eye was drawn to this because it displayed not a license but a photograph of a naked woman. She reclined upon a couch, odalisquely, her red hair loose and waving along her shoulders, her chin lifted and her eyes gazing into the camera. Lovely full breasts with unusually pale nipples. My God, I thought, this is Marlene.
Should I be seeing this? What was I to do? Get the credit card, I reminded myself. This is a trick; she’s playing with you. Get to Japan, that’s all that matters. Take a card, any card; take the green one, that’s American Express, good round the world. I extracted the card and dropped the wallet back into the purse as if it was burning my fingers, which it was. A titter of laughterfrom the audience exasperated me. What were they laughing at?
Though I didn’t register the roar from the wings as human, much less female, I heard Marlene before I saw her. She burst upon the stage brandishing a board as long as she was tall and she came straight at me in a fury that no one would mistake for an act. My brain, confused beyond endurance, concluded that she was angry about the photo. But how could that be, she’d put it there, she knew I would find it. “Get out of my house,” she bellowed. I backed away as she lowered the board, leveling it at my head for what promised to be a mighty blow. “Mother,” I cried, staggering, but she kept coming. My knees buckled and I sprawled to the floor, covering my eyes with my hands. “Don’t hit me,” I whimpered.
“David?” she asked incredulously. The board, inches from my face, shifted to the right and came down with a crash on the chalky stage planks. “Oh my God, David,” she said. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”
Tears burst from my eyes;
Everyone laughed. I followed, stumbling behind her. I’d done this sort of thing before, we all had; exercises of this kind were our daily bread, but I felt unprepared and anxious. I’ve got to get to Japan, I told myself. I must get to Japan, today. If I can get the money now, I’ll make the plane. I have a reservation; my bag is packed.
Marlene put her purse on the table and pulled it open, producing a leather wallet from inside. “This is my wallet,” she said. “The credit card is inside.” She dropped the wallet into the capacious purse. It had a satchel-style opening which she snapped closed. “You’ll have to open the wallet to get the card,” she added needlessly. “You come from there”—she pointed to the wings offstage right—“and I’ll come from this side.”
I went into the wings where I stood for a moment pulling my cheeks down with the palms of my hands. I’m desperate, I thought. I’ve got to get to Japan. I know Mother won’t want me to go, she won’t help me, but if I could get her credit card somehow without her knowing, I could pay for the ticket. I’ll pay her back later, once I’m settled in Japan. I stepped onto thestage and there was the table with the purse. All I had to do was open the wallet and get the card. I paused, listening—was she nearby? Was she even in the house? But there was nothing. Now’s your chance, I advised myself. Do it quickly. I rushed to the table and snapped open the purse. It was crammed with stuff, makeup, a checkbook, pens, wadded tissues, a tin of mints, but the wallet was riding on top of it all and I snatched it, glancing behind me, though I knew very well that Mother wouldn’t surprise me from that direction. That backward glance stymied me—it was forced, something from vaudeville, the anxious thief fearing apprehension. I imagined Meisner chortling at my ineptitude, my loss of focus. The wallet, I thought, just get the card before she comes in. I lifted the snap and the wallet flopped open like a book. There were three credit cards on one side, the shiny edges visible above the thin leather sheaths, like toast in a toaster. On the other side was a plasticized pocket designed for a driver’s license. My eye was drawn to this because it displayed not a license but a photograph of a naked woman. She reclined upon a couch, odalisquely, her red hair loose and waving along her shoulders, her chin lifted and her eyes gazing into the camera. Lovely full breasts with unusually pale nipples. My God, I thought, this is Marlene.
Should I be seeing this? What was I to do? Get the credit card, I reminded myself. This is a trick; she’s playing with you. Get to Japan, that’s all that matters. Take a card, any card; take the green one, that’s American Express, good round the world. I extracted the card and dropped the wallet back into the purse as if it was burning my fingers, which it was. A titter of laughterfrom the audience exasperated me. What were they laughing at?
Though I didn’t register the roar from the wings as human, much less female, I heard Marlene before I saw her. She burst upon the stage brandishing a board as long as she was tall and she came straight at me in a fury that no one would mistake for an act. My brain, confused beyond endurance, concluded that she was angry about the photo. But how could that be, she’d put it there, she knew I would find it. “Get out of my house,” she bellowed. I backed away as she lowered the board, leveling it at my head for what promised to be a mighty blow. “Mother,” I cried, staggering, but she kept coming. My knees buckled and I sprawled to the floor, covering my eyes with my hands. “Don’t hit me,” I whimpered.
“David?” she asked incredulously. The board, inches from my face, shifted to the right and came down with a crash on the chalky stage planks. “Oh my God, David,” she said. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”
Tears burst from my eyes;
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