ACT I--THE GLASS MENAGERIE
[Christine is talking to Laura and Henry in the New York apartment she
now shares with her
father and Laura.]
CHRISTINE
I'm really pleased that you could come back to help us with the opening
of The Tempest,
Uncle Henry. And since I've got you and Laura together
this evening, I'd like to ask you about
how Dad met you two. The other evening he told me about how he
met Mother--doing three
plays with her at the University of Kansas. He said he'd met
Laura the same way, doing three
plays with her at Wellington College . . . and you were involved in
all of them. He said, "I'll tell
you . . . but some other time."
LAURA
I guess he meant "met" us doing The Glass Menagerie,
Who's
Afraid of Virginia Woolf,
and A Doll's House that year.
HENRY
Of course we'd both met Jack long before doing those plays. We
were in each other's office
every day from the beginning of the school year, and Laura pretty well
ran his office.
CHRISTINE
I think he just remembers the year as structured by those plays.
HENRY
[Laughs.] A habit of mind. Well, they were all memorable.
I think I met your dad at the first
faculty meeting, but I'm sure I met your mother--first saw Betty--when
I was having lunch with
Marge at our little country club. I'll never forget that.
CHRISTINE
I told you that Jordan and I had lunch there with Marge when we stopped
at Wellington driving
from New York to California, didn't I? She's an interesting woman.
[Pause.] Dad said that was
his first real job--with a brand-new M.A., director of the Wellington
College Theatre in the
brand-new Nelson Fine Arts Center. He said he'd been given total
freedom with the theatre
program, really enjoyed directing plays there, and probably would have
stayed longer . . . if
Mother had been happy there.
HENRY
I know the college president had told him they'd be pleased to have
some "new and imaginative,
even experimental" things done in theatre, "something besides Shakespeare,
and those other
standard college plays," though he had no clear ideas of just what--never
came to a single play
himself that I recall. He probably got those ideas from Marge,
who'd helped raise the money for
the new theatre. He took her seriously enough.
LAURA
I'll bet he still does . . . if Wharton is still president. I
wonder.
HENRY
Well Marge was important to the college, and to the alumni association
And she was the guiding
spirit of the Wellington Community Players--who were also going to
use that new theatre. So she
was eagerly awaiting the new director. When she saw Betty and
Jack come into the country club
for lunch, she called them over to our table.
[Henry gets up to move to the table at the back corner of the set with
Marge. Christine goes off
to come on with Jack as Betty.]
MARGE
Jack! Come join us. And is this your wife? Betty?
JACK
Betty, this is Marge French. You've heard me speak of her.
MARGE
I'm pleased to meet you. I understand you're an actress, too.
Jack said you might be interested in
our Community Theatre productions. And, oh, Jack, this is the
Professor Henry Gordon I was
telling you about . . . you know . . . The Bald Soprano.
BETTY
[Laughing.] I'd have guessed you to be a baritone.
JACK
[To Betty, as they all laugh.] The one Marge told me had suggested
the Wellington Players might
do Ionesco's The Bald Soprano as first production in
"our" new theatre. So Henry Gordon,
psychology professor . . . meet my wife, Betty.
HENRY
[Smiling at Betty.] Pleased to meet you. I told Marge it
was a simple play, with a small cast--but
a good role for her--and definitely experimental--"what's happening
now" in Paris.
MARGE
He even volunteered to do the technical work on The Bald Soprano,
if we'd do the play, just to
get a chance to work with all the electronic toys in that lovely new
theatre. So we read the play,
and--in spite of not understanding it--I finally said "yes."
JACK
[To Henry.] I'm told you know enough about lighting to have been
a consultant when they
installed the system--so I look forward to talking to you about the
lighting problems I'll have
with The Glass Menagerie, with all its scrims.
And about Ionesco, too. I've barely heard of
these Absurdists--know a couple of Sartre's plays, No Exit
and The Flies, but none of
Ionesco. How do you happen to know about him?
HENRY
I spent much of last summer in Paris. I saw La Canatrice
chauve three times, and was
fascinated by it. I actually like Ionesco's The Lesson
better--the absurdity makes more sense
to me [Smiles at Betty.] . . . but there's no part for Marge.
JACK
I've heard something of a Waiting for Godot. Did
you see that?
HENRY
Yes I did. [Laughs.] But it doesn't have a part for Marge either.
JACK
Well, I can't worry about any of that now. I'll be happy to see
what you do with it, but have my
own "first play," The Glass Menagerie, to consider, scheduled
for about a month after you do
The Bald Soprano, I think . . . and classes to teach
for the first time--which will be a totally new
experience for me. So I can't afford to get too involved in
Ionesco just now.
BETTY
But I might be willing to help on your play. The original is
in French, then, isn't it? Do you have a
copy I might borrow?
MARGE
We're having our first read-through of the play Thursday night . .
. in English, of course. Why don't
you come to that.
HENRY
And I'll bring a copy of the play in French.
[Lights follow Henry and Christine, who stop center stage.]
CHRISTINE
And then Mother was in that play, The Bald Soprano, wasn't
she? While she was still pregnant
with me.
HENRY
And delighted in it. Most of them had no idea what Ionesco was
doing, but, though she was
meeting him for the first time, too, she was tuning to his wave length
as if it were her own--the only
one laughing in all the right places.
CHRISTINE
She was a literary chameleon, picking up the vibes from the author
. . . whether Shakespeare or
Shaw . . . Ionesco or Albee!
HENRY
Yes . . . as an actress. But it was more than that with Ionesco.
She'd found a kindred spirit. She
did The Lesson with Jordan as an after-piece in New York
a number of times. And as your dad
became busier, she began to have time on her hands, needed something
to do--but what . . . in her
condition? We saw at the read-through how much she wanted to
be on stage.
CHRISTINE
Always.
HENRY
Yes . . . always. A day or two later she had volunteered to work
on props and costumes for
The Bald Soprano, had called Marge and then gone to lunch
with her again. They were hitting
it off very well, in fact. She said she could ride with Jack
when he had things to do at school, but
could still drive when necessary, to get to "be around theatre a little."
Jack wondered about her
as "prop girl," but wasn't surprised when, two weeks later, there she
was, seven months pregnant,
right in the middle of our play, challenging Marge for center stage.
And both of them delighted by
it! He came back even on evenings he didn't have to, would sit
in the back of the theatre, reading
his assignments, or grading papers, waiting to take Betty home, and
watching her work with Marge.
CHRISTINE
But I thought Marge already had the play cast.
HENRY
Yes, Marge had cast her best friend from high school, Norma-- who had
done a lot of melodrama
with her--as Mrs. Martin. But Norma said she'd "had enough of
that crazy play." Then Betty
started telling her how funny it was, laughing and giving examples.
It became obvious that she
already had half of the play by memory, just from rehearsals.
It was Marge who then asked,
"Well, do you think you could do Norma's part?"
CHRISTINE
And you were surprised that she said "yes"?
HENRY
[Laughs.] I was . . . but your dad wasn't. Looking back,
it seemed like she'd plotted it from the
beginning. Your mother and dad had started playing bridge
on Monday evenings with Marge
and me, at my house. That Monday Betty had kept responding with,
"How bizarre, how
absolutely bizarre," and other lines from The Bald Soprano,
like "Groom the goose, don't goose
the groom"--which really delighted Marge. That may have been
what triggered the idea that she
should replace Norma, since Norma didn't think such lines were funny
at all.
CHRISTINE
Ionesco based The Bald Soprano on foolish conversation exercises he
met in a language book
when he was struggling with English, turning some of the ridiculous
patterns you meet in studying
a language into a kind of game, didn't he?
HENRY
I think so. Marge said that when she'd suggested Betty take the
part Betty had used that phrase,
"How bizarre!" and laughed, saying "An ostentatiously pregnant Mrs.
Martin? What would it do
to the play if I had the baby right on stage?" But she didn't
say "No." And the play doesn't require
a lot of action, just language play, which Betty always enjoyed.
CHRISTINE
So you think Mother was auditioning while playing bridge?
HENRY
She'd been at the rehearsals, so knew the problems Norma was having,
though I'd seen Norma's
attitude as a virtue--delivering the lines as if there were nothing
funny about them at all should have
been a riot. But Betty was there rehearsing that evening with
script in hand, by two or three
evenings later without the script. Borrowing the books from me, she
started reading other Ionesco
in French. Her French was already pretty good.
[They walk back to where Laura is sitting.]
LAURA
Jack was concerned about Betty and Marge, said that Marge, of all people,
might find Betty
intimidating.
HENRY
Betty never challenged Marge at all, just settled in as a comfort-
able pregnant woman, playing
language tricks with those absurd speeches. Jack told me that,
even at home, everything became,
'What a coincidence! How incredibly bizarre!' until he wanted
to strangle somebody--somebody
named Bobby Watson.
CHRISTINE
[To Laura.] I'm hearing about Henry, and about Marge, but how
did Dad meet you? As a
student in one of his classes?
LAURA
I was in one of his classes, but I also worked in the theatre office,
from the beginning of the year--
pretty much as his whole staff. The first play we were doing
in the college program was The
Glass Menagerie, and I was cast as Laura. I also
suggested that he and I could do a reading of
The Lesson, along with The Bald Soprano.
Henry, Professor Gordon in those days, got me
reading the Ionesco, too, there in the office, and it seemed to me
that your dad [Smiles.]--but
just Professor Curtis then--and I could easily do The Lesson
as a staged reading, without much
rehearsal, to give the audience a little fuller evening, with two short
plays. Your dad liked the idea,
but Marge didn't, and Betty said it would be anticlimactic.
CHRISTINE
They probably saw you as competing with them.
LAURA
Or intruding on their party. But we explained it would just be
billed as an afterpiece, to fill out
the evening for those who wanted to stay for a little more Ionesco,
and they finally accepted that
as relatively harmless.
HENRY
It was at the rehearsal at Marge's the evening after Jack proposed
that idea that I first heard Betty
say anything about Laura. [Smiling at her.] Or not
"say" exactly. She did a parody of the young
college girl trying to impress the new young director--and not just
as an actress--obviously
intended as Laura. She even used lines from The Lesson,
like 'I've got a toothache,' that showed
that she'd read that play, too. Even in late pregnancy, she was
a pretty good mimic. It broke
Marge up. Me, too, I'd have to admit..
LAURA
I never knew that she had any such concerns about me at that time--clear
back when you were
doing The Bald Soprano?
HENRY
Well, you were a good-looking co-ed, and Betty was a pregnant wife.
It seemed natural enough
to me. You're right, though--I'd say it was more about sharing
the stage than sharing the man.
At least that's what had brought you so strongly to her attention.
Still, we all get a little jealous.
Jack had his concerns, too. He said you gave that reading so
much more time and energy than
he'd expected that it required more from him than he wanted to give.
It was as if you were the
director and he was the delinquent student--a nice turn in terms of
that little play. But you worked
very well together, I thought, and he said he looked forward to doing
many other things with you.
CHRISTINE
And he has done, hasn't he?
HENRY
[Laughing.] Yes . . . hasn't he?
CHRISTINE
[To Laura.] So that's how you came into his life.
HENRY
[Laughing.] Well, there was more to it than that, but, yes, most
noticeably as his Laura in The
Glass Menagerie. He thought it a nice touch that
he could cast a girl whose name actually was
Laura. Laura Burns . . . from Omaha. Your father was chief
surgeon in the big hospital there, as
I recall. I met him when he and your mother came to see the play
opening night . . . but, thanks to
Christine, Jack wasn't there that night.
LAURA
But Jack did meet my parents later. Back stage the opening night
of Who's Afraid of Virginia
Woolf, I remember, when we had so many other problems
he was a little abrupt with them, I'm
afraid. Father, at least, never trusted Jack. In his letters
to me he came to blame Jack for
everything. Jack said that was probably fair--because a teacher
shouldn't get involved with a
student that way. "But he thinks I led you astray. Little
does he know." Jack didn't like my
father much, either, just assumed I'd always gotten my way with him,
so claimed I'd learned how
to manipulate men practicing on my father over the years.
CHRISTINE
[To Henry.] And you say Mother thought something was going on
between Dad and Laura from
the first. That's interesting.
HENRY
Well, Laura was a theatre major, in her junior year, so almost your
mother's age . . . though Betty
has always seemed older to me. I think she is . . . was . . .
by about six months. Laura had also
had some substantial parts already, both in high school in Omaha and
in her two years there at
Wellington. And, in the transition from old director to new,
she had become Jill-of-all-trades
around the theatre, first part-time secretary, then, as they got to
work on the play, helping on sets,
costumes, publicity--everything. I think Jack paid you for about
ten hours a week, minimum
wage, didn't he? And you put in about thirty.
LAURA
It certainly wasn't for the money.
HENRY
[To Christine.] And just below that quiet, obliging surface there
was an iron will, yes, used to
getting its way with "authority"-- which was fine with Jack, so long
as she was negotiating for him
with higher authority. He had accepted her help gratefully the
first month he was there, but by the
time they had the theatre pretty much to themselves, as The Bald
Soprano was over, said he
could see he'd need to be careful with this girl.
LAURA
Oh? Well he certainly never said that to me.
HENRY
[To Christine.] I'd already had her as a student--in beginning
psychology the year before--where
you could say she'd psyched me out of an A--and had her in an upper
division class that semester.
She'd also been one of the girls, the brunette, Hermia, I believe,
in A Midsummer Night's
Dream the year before.
LAURA
Yes . . . Hermia. I remembered it fondly when Christine was
Titania . . . found myself still able to
mutter many of the lines.
HENRY
And you had become more or less indispensable to Marvin Jones in the
theatre office as well.
You'd done everything for him, and he appreciated it, gave you the
run of the office--so you were
used to it by the time Jack got there.
LAURA
Father always said the office should be run by a good secretary.
HENRY
[To Christine.] And Jack did begin to neglect Betty. He
had in effect turned her over to Marge
and me while The Bald Soprano was on--when she was busy
and excited--then paid her even
less attention just when she needed it most, during that down period
right after the play--and in
the last days of her pregnancy--because he was so involved in his own
play by then, and with his
teaching, which he took very seriously.
LAURA
Well he was busy . . . everybody knew that.
HENRY
Marge became baffled by Betty, too. Almost inseparable while
doing The Bald Soprano, when
it was over Marge could hardly get Betty to go to lunch. She
didn't even want to play bridge--
though, it's true, bridge never was her game. She said she'd
rather sit home and knit--though
[To Christine.] I don't think you had any booties to show for it--or
read, or think about things.
Jack thought she was concerned about the baby, though she wouldn't
talk about it, said, "We'll
worry about that when it's time . . . what good does it do now?"
Since she didn't seem to be
having any trouble, he tried to accept that . . . when thinking
about it at all . . . was mostly thinking
about his play.
LAURA
Well, by then we were in rehearsal every evening.
HENRY
Betty had come to a few of the rehearsals, enough to begin to see herself
in the role of Laura, I
think, but made no comments, beyond saying she just felt like an outsider,
and stopped coming.
LAURA
I could tell that it bothered her to see someone else the center of
attention on stage . . . as it
always did.
HENRY
But I don't think it ever occurred to Jack that she might be jealous
of Laura--with him or as an
actress. She knew her own power. Right after The
Bald Soprano was over, I was a little
concerned about her strange moods, but thought, "Well, what do you
expect? She's pregnant.
Once the baby is here she'll be too busy to pay any attention to what
any of us are doing."
LAURA
And she did made a close friend of their next-door neighbor.
HENRY
Yes. Emma Brigot. Jack told me how that happened.
[Christine steps over to join Jack in a dining room in Nebraska.
As Betty, she is reading the
evening paper, after dinner.]
JACK
Well, I need to get back to school. The blocking is going pretty
well, but there are still a lot of
problems--and one is the weather. If we get another snowstorm
like that one two nights ago, I
wonder what the road conditions are going to be like coming home.
What is the newspaper
predicting?
BETTY
[Laughs.] Depend upon ice on the road . . . this is Nebraska.
[Gives a little gasp.] Here's a story
about the man who lives next door. He saved a boy's life
last night. He is State Trooper Kent
Brigot, isn't he? Listen! "Dan Driscoll, a Wellington student
who commutes from his family farm
eight miles north, lost control of his 1947 Ford pickup truck on an
icy section of US-81 the other
side of Four Corners, hit a bridge abutment, and turned over in the
ditch, dislocating his left
shoulder and fracturing his left leg. He had severed an artery
in the fractured leg and was bleeding
badly. State Trooper Kent Brigot found him there, applied a tourniquet,
radioed for an
ambulance, and accompanied Driscoll to the Wellington hospital."
That's really amazing . . . to
save someone's life. And he lives right next door. His
wife's a teacher, or librarian, or something,
isn't she?
JACK
The librarian at the Junior High School.
BETTY
We know the Brigots well enough to borrow lawn tools, or say "hello"
in passing, but have lived
here for almost two months and don't really know our neighbors on either
side.
JACK
True. We know a handful of people from the college. Mostly
we know Henry and Marge.
BETTY
I think I'll go over and get better acquainted.
[Christine comes back to the living room.]
LAURA
The reason I remember that incident so well is that I knew that boy
. . . not much of a student,
but very likable . . . who then killed Officer Brigot with that same
1947 Ford pickup while we
were rehearsing A Doll's House that spring. He'd
had enough time to get out of the hospital and
get that truck back on the road, but not enough time to learn how to
drive it, I guess.
HENRY
[To Christine.] In the later incident, Kent had stopped a fellow
for speeding on State Highway
15, north of Wellington, given him a ticket, and was evidently checking
on something at the back
of the patrol car, when that kid came around the curve too fast, swerved
onto the wrong side of
the road and rammed into the parked police car, killing Kent instantly.
The guy Kent had given
the ticket was maybe half a mile down the road, heard the tires squealing
and then saw the accident
in his rearview mirror. He saw the boy stop and get out of the
truck. But, by the time he turned
around and drove back, the boy was limping away in what was left of
his truck. And what was
left of him had to be picked up later at his folks' farm. No
one could have helped Kent by then,
anyway, but the boy was the one I felt sorriest for in the whole stupid
affair. I think of how often
something like that could have happened to me when I was a teenage
driver.
LAURA
I remember that we canceled rehearsals for the funeral--just when Betty
and I were switching
roles.
HENRY
I wonder what that boy's doing now . . . at forty.
LAURA
Probably farming . . . with a new truck. Life goes on.
HENRY
Well, Betty got acquainted with Emma Brigot that same semi- snowbound
November evening--
and had found a friend. By then Betty was distinctly pregnant--due
to deliver almost any time--
and Emma responded like the good Nebraska farm woman she was, showing
how much the rest
of us had been failing her. Jack would have been more considerate,
but, given Betty's quixotic
temperament, didn't know how. And Marge and I weren't much better
at dealing with the
emotional currents of a pregnant woman. After what Jack had told
me of their experience in
Kansas, I'd begun to attribute much of Betty's moodiness to the comedown
it must have been to
move from center stage, Miss Campus Queen, with football stars and
leading men at your call, to
Mrs. Faculty Wife at a little college in Nebraska, to whom no one is
paying any attention at all.
LAURA
I don't see how it could have been about Jack and me . . . though
he did say later that she'd
remarked about him talking more about me than the other kids
in the play at home, and spending
more time with me than with her, if you didn't count the time they
were asleep. But there really
wasn't anything for him to apologize for. [To Christine.]
I can vouch for that.
HENRY
But Betty had obviously met someone, in Emma, who was on the right
wave-length. Emma had
four children of her own--an oldest boy in the Navy, on the highway
patrol there in Wellington
now, like his dad was, I believe; an oldest daughter already
married to a farmer living about three
miles south of town; a younger son in college at the University of
Nebraska; and the youngest, Peg,
in her first year of high school. And Emma was the most genuinely
maternal woman I've ever
known. It really was as if she were Betty's mother.
LAURA
And Jack's mother, too--making sure Betty had dinner ready when he
came home, and his shirts
ironed to go to school..
HENRY
She hadn't run over as the "welcome wagon lady" the day they moved
in--probably saw them as
needing to get acquainted with "all those college people" first.
But when Betty went over there that
evening, bubbling over about what Kent had done, Emma saw what she
needed immediately. Jack
said that, in spite of a late rehearsal, he got home before Betty did.
Kent was on the night shift,
and Peg had come home from a basketball game to turn directly to watching
the late movie on
television, while Betty had talked to Emma until after midnight, sitting
there in that warm Nebraska
living room, one of the most comfortable rooms I've ever been in.
LAURA
I know that Betty spent a lot of her time with Emma from then until
Christine was born. Once
Jack knew that Betty had Emma to turn to, he might not even go home
for dinner, would just call
and explain that the play needed him. Then he and I might go
over to the Happy Scotchman, or
whatever that hamburger stand across from school was called, for a
quick cheeseburger, glass of
milk, and piece of coconut cream pie, as we discussed props, or publicity,
or budget, or
scheduling--then right back to work, on the lighting lay-out, or a
special rehearsal to get my limp
just right, or whatever.
HENRY
You two did spend more and more time together, until I became a little
suspicious, myself. [To
Christine.] You read about these schoolgirl crushes and think
"situation comedy," right?
LAURA
Now, Henry.
HENRY
But he was lucky to have you as his Laura. Whenever I think of
The
Glass Menagerie I think
of you in that role.
LAURA
But not as good as Betty, was I?
HENRY
Betty was a natural, but you were certainly good enough to play lead
roles at bigger schools than
Wellington. And you were willing to work. So Jack worked
with you, by the hour, to get your
own part polished perfectly, and to take care of all the other details
of production--which you
were willing to work on. But he, too, felt that some of your
meetings, and special rehearsals, were
a little contrived, and, I must say, I'd even started kidding him about
it. [To Christine.] I think he
tried to stop meeting with Laura alone . . . quite so often.
He said he wasn't interested in any
backstage romance, only doing the play.
LAURA
And I told him that I was surprised that he'd think I had anything
more than the play in mind . . .
but, it's true, I did.
HENRY
Well, you were always there, working on costumes and props, doing the
secretarial work in the
office.
LAURA
And, as I look back on my innocent self at twenty, I was making it
as clear as I could that I was a
sophisticated woman of the world, who knew that people in the theatre
were above the petty moral
limitations that kept most people in Nebraska in the Middle Ages.
I told him that the British or
French or Italian actresses and directors that I read about in magazines
understood 20th-century
relationships between men and women. I never quite said, 'And
I'm available,' but I was.
HENRY
[To Christine.] She was, indeed, a pert and shapely 20 . . .
tempting enough. Jack said he knew
this very well, but felt there was a wide enough insurance margin,
not exactly in terms of being true
to Betty, but in terms of what he knew you had to pay for what you
got in affairs of this kind, that
he could imagine, not only the wild night, but also what they'd be
talking about the next morning--
not only the party, but the hangover. He said that had kept him
out of a lot of trouble over the
years . . . or from leading the more exciting life he might have led.
LAURA
I can just see you two professors, discussing me so cavalierly in the
office as if I were a threat . . .
while I was struggling with my own emotions . . . in love as only a
twenty-year-old can be.
HENRY
You always made sure you were essential to what he was doing.
LAURA
[To Christine.] The real confrontation came on dress rehearsal
night. We were still rehearsing the
first act when Jack got a call from Emma Brigot that Betty's labor
was finally beginning and that
he'd better get her to the hospital. I heard him say, "Why now?"--after
he'd hung up, I believe.
It's terrible to admit that our play was more important to your father
than your birth, but you'd
been expected at least a week earlier. I could tell how frustrated
he was when he told us he'd get
back if he could.
HENRY
Emma went with them to the hospital, assuring Jack that everything
was perfectly normal, and, with
the vague notion that labor usually went on for hours, he thought he
might be able to get back to the
theatre for an hour or two of the finishing touches he thought the
play needed and still be back at
the hospital by the time the baby was born. He said he felt guilty
about it, but, with Betty's
groaning consent, and Emma's tight-lipped assurance that she
would be there, back he went.
LAURA
We were all on edge that night.
HENRY
I offered to take over for him, but he said there were just a few things
he wanted to be sure about.
Then, in the last scene, I remember you got upset over some minor piece
of business.
LAURA
Jack always insisted on saying I "threw a tantrum."
HENRY
[To Christine.] Well, I did think she was going to break all
the glass animals we'd borrowed for
her menagerie. The fact that she didn't break a single one should
have been a clue.
LAURA
Then Jack threw a tantrum of his own. I apologized, understanding
how tense he must be, but
insisted that we work out something I could feel comfortable with opening
night.
HENRY
So Jack said, "All right everybody--that's no doubt the best we can
do. Make-up call at 7:00
tomorrow night. If I'm not here, Professor Gordon will be in
charge. From this point on the
director is just a nuisance, anyway--like the father when the baby
is born--right? Which means I
had better get back there."
LAURA
[Seductively.] Then he and I were there in the theatre alone.
CHRISTINE
You make it sound pretty dramatic.
LAURA
Well, while you were being born, I was declaring myself to be in love
with your father, and I
didn't feel embarrassed by that at all. I'd been struggling with
it--thinking about his wife and her
baby--but I thought he needed to know my feelings about him, and I
needed to know his about
me, before I could go on stage the next night. He accused me
of blackmailing him, at the worst
possible time, said this was more bizarre than anything in The
Bald Soprano. [Laura is laughing
by this time.]
HENRY
Jack told me later that, in resisting her advances, his footwork alone
would have qualified the
scene as high farce--and that he launched a quick counter offensive,
grounded in ambiguity.
LAURA
Yes, he said he could understand my anxiety about opening night--but
this wasn't the time to . . .
worry about us. After the play was over, we'd have to consider
. . . and so on. When he finally
drove me back to the dorm it was close to midnight.
CHRISTINE
While I was being born. Well, love . . . is never easy.
HENRY
When he got back to the hospital he said Emma was very upset.
[The hospital scene.]
EMMA
Where have you been? I've been trying to call, but . . .
JACK
I'm sorry. I should have moved the phone to the theatre connection
. . . but . . . has Betty had the
baby?
EMMA
Yes . . . and I'm afraid there were complications . . . doctor.
DOCTOR
Well, the baby seems fine . . . was more than full term. But
it was a difficult delivery, and we
decided on surgery late. It involved a kind of hysterectomy.
I can show you what I mean.
JACK
Just tell me what it means . . . to my wife.
DOCTOR
Well, to put it simply, it means that your wife won't be able to have
another baby. We'll watch her
for the next couple of days for other complications, but that much
is certain.
[Back to the living room.]
HENRY
Jack said that he began to weep as the doctor told him this, not because
he had any particular
desire for more children--had never thought about it--but, he said,
mostly for the state of his own
soul, because he hadn't been there with Betty when she faced that kind
of trauma. He always felt
guilty about that.
CHRISTINE
It wouldn't have made any difference at all. You know that.
HENRY
It did to Jack . . . and who knows about Betty? From that point
on I assumed all the director's
duties, allowing him to spend his evenings at the hospital. The
play was scheduled to run Friday
and Saturday evenings for two weeks. He could have visited Betty
in the afternoon, after classes,
some of which he canceled anyway, and gone on to the theatre in the
evenings, if there had been
any real need, but I think he was trying to avoid any more awkward
confrontations with Laura.
He said he was afraid she might get temperamental enough to walk out
on the play.
LAURA
Now that really is too much . . . as you well know.
HENRY
He knew he'd have to face her eventually, to settle things in the office,
but avoided even going there
for a day or two, expecting her to be there. But Laura made it
easier by not showing up during the
day at all, at the office or in the class she had with him--as if they'd
agreed on that. He began to
suspect that she was waiting for him to come to her, like a spider
in her web, on stage, surrounded
by her glass menagerie, where the advantage would be all hers.
I made it possible for him to avoid
that.
LAURA
[Laughing out loud by this time.] I was in a play--and practically
the stage manager as well as lead
actress.
HENRY
And there I was, at that critical moment, standing between the designing
woman and my
beleaguered friend . . . just the beginning of a series of friendly
gestures on my part, you know.
LAURA
[To Christine.] I sympathized with Betty over any complications
in your birth, but didn't really
understand what they were. Henry said you both seemed to be doing
pretty well.
HENRY
It's hard to imagine a healthier or more charming baby than you were,
Christine. It seemed to me
your father must've had ulterior motives for not coming to the theatre
at all. Laura was still coming
to my class, and I never saw any of this "spider woman" stuff.
Jack said that, if anything, he was
more awkward at the hospital than he would have been at the theatre,
just sat there, with a
magazine in his hand and a vague smile on his face, feeling healthy
and helpless, as I always do
myself as a visitor in a hospital. He'd talk to Betty, a little,
but not about anything central to what
either must have been thinking--though they did sometimes exchange
looks, he said, that seemed
to communicate more, perhaps the unsettling recognition that they seemed
to share that each was
looking at a total stranger.
LAURA
I already knew that Betty was unhappy in Wellington.
HENRY
[To Christine.] But we were all delighted with you from the first.
Jack held you more than Betty
did when you were in the room, and told me he would frequently go down
to look at you through
the nursery window, which, at the time, I found to be a kind of philosophical
exercise. But he
could only spend about so much time doing that, so spent much of the
time talking to Emma, who
seemed to come to the hospital just so he'd have someone to talk to,
or to listen to, as she carried
on active conversations with Betty, or with the nurses, since she,
in striking contrast to the
bewildered husband, knew just the right things to say and do in a hospital
room.
LAURA
But Betty did have problems with the birth.
HENRY
Yes, Jack thought she must be taking the hysterectomy harder than she
wanted to admit. He
knew that she'd have preferred to wait to have children until after
she'd tested her youth in the
professional theatre. I, too, felt it must strike at something
pretty fundamental for any young
woman to find out she can no longer expect to have babies, but Betty
wouldn't talk about it.
LAURA
I don't remember ever seeing Betty cry over any misfortune, though
she could cry very easily, on
command, on stage.
HENRY
Jack said Betty was never more beautiful than near the end of that
week in the hospital, when she
had some of the bloom back in her cheeks, but still looked a little
ethereal, with that melancholy
mode of "sorrow under control" adding its bitter-sweet touch.
In spite of feeling so awkward, he
wanted to be near her then, felt she was indeed the center of his life,
if a mysterious center, and
felt increasingly guilty about having unintentionally neglected to
be with her in her time of need . . .
as she lay there silently contemplating him, without a word of reproach.
CHRISTINE
He must have loved Mother very much.
HENRY
He did . . . and you, too. But he'd have preferred a little anger,
or signs of frustration, from her.
I'd go to the hospital and tell them how well the play was doing.
The review came out in the
Wellington Weekly, heralding a new era in local theatre--good
to read, if pretty conventional.
As we talked about individual cast members, I extolled everyone else,
one by one, hinting there
might be problems with Laura, then, after setting him up, made a point
of telling Betty that the
main problem with Laura was believing the Gentleman Caller could pass
her by. Betty nodded
and smiled to herself, as if it were a private joke.
LAURA
I remember you joking about it one evening, suggesting that we rewrite
the ending for closing night
so that we'd run off together, leaving Tom and Amanda behind to continue
to badger each other
the rest of their lives. I was for that.
HENRY
I told Jack the play probably should end that way, would satisfy everyone
much better . . . better
than if she ran off with her director. He wasn't amused. But
then Jack did come to the final
performance, slipping in just as the play was beginning.
LAURA
I saw him come in . . . had been looking for him . . . every night.
HENRY
He'd taken Betty and Christine home the day before, and Emma and Peg
offered to stay with
them if he wanted to see his play. Betty encouraged him to go,
too. She might have gone along,
but said, "Too long to sit. I saw some of your rehearsals.
But invite them all here, to see the
baby, afterwards." Emma echoed this, saying, "Peg and I will
fix some cookies and things."
LAURA
And so he did see the whole play--and it was the best night.
HENRY
He said he watched this play he'd directed, thinking, "Did I do this?"
I've seen half a dozen
productions of The Glass Menagerie over the years, too--it's
a great play, hard to do wrong--
but that was the best. Jack said he was particularly watching
you, trying to read the "real you"
between the lines, and that you were much better than he'd remembered--for
that he could forgive
a lot of foolishness. [To Christine.] He, too, thought The Gentleman
Caller missed his chance,
leaving Laura with her glass menagerie . . . and her dreams.
LAURA
Yes . . . with my dreams.
HENRY
Jack told us backstage after the play that he was proud of the whole
cast, and deeply relieved,
and extended Betty's invitation for a "meet-the-baby cast party, which
you can then take elsewhere
and extend into an orgy if you're so disposed." They were all elated,
caught up in the excitement of
having performed well in a good play--all except Laura, it seemed.
LAURA
I was as pleased as anyone. But I hadn't seen Jack face to face
since he'd left me at my dorm the
night you were born, so naturally, the minute our eyes met, he could
see the resentment I felt over
his having avoided me for the whole run of the play. He made
a special point of inviting me,
hoping this might help bring the reality of his situation home to me,
I suppose.
CHRISTINE
Then this was when I first met you, wasn't it?
HENRY
Laura went to the party with the young business major who had played
The Gentleman Caller. I
thought Jack should be saying, "Please! Here's your second chance.
Take her!" What could be
more natural--a college boy pursuing a college girl. But when I saw
him looking at the two of
them, it was more like her father might, sceptical about letting them
go off alone.
[Laura goes off to enter as her younger self. The light comes
up on Jack toward the back of the
stage made up like a baby's room, talking to three students as Laura
and Lester enter.]
LESTER
[Taking the baby from Ginger.] This sure is a pretty baby.
GINGER
And born our dress rehearsal night.
LESTER
[To Laura.] You about ready to leave? I'll get your coat.
LAURA
[Takes the baby as the others leave her alone with Jack.] I'll
just be a minute.
JACK
Well, you did do a great job as Laura.
LAURA
Yes, didn't I. And I've thought about it a lot . . . and about
us. I probably should feel sorry for
your wife, and you, since Dr. Gordon says she can't have any more children.
But I don't feel
sorry for you . . . not at all . . . since you have this beautiful
baby. [She rocks Christine in her arms
to keep her from interrupting.] I don't even feel sorry for myself--just
taken advantage of!
JACK
Taken advantage of? You just starred in a play!
LAURA
But I feel worse than if you'd seduced me . . . which . . . [She looks
him straight in the eye when
she says it.] you might easily have done.
JACK
[Laughs.] Like Dimmesdale seduced Hester, I suppose. [Looking
at Christine there in Laura's
arms.] I think our little Pearl just winked at me.
LAURA
You grossly abused my affection for you, to get me to do a tremendous
amount of work, on-stage
and off, then tricked me into staying in the play when I was tempted
to dump it all--by hiding
behind your wife and baby. For nights I'd just lay awake thinking
about what to do--under the
tension of the most demanding role of my life. I did identify
with Laura in the play, left by the man
she loves to amuse herself with her glass menagerie. I finally
decided the important thing was to
reaffirm my love, to remain true to myself, even if you were a dirty
skunk who didn't deserve it.
Sooner or later you'll see that, too.
JACK
As I listen to you, standing there with the baby, I realize what a
good little actress you are! While
I begin to feel like an innocent bystander who's been hit by a truck.
LAURA
You told us once about how an Elizabethan sonneteer would sublimate
his emotions in his art. I
felt that that was what I was doing, sublimating my emotions into the
role. [When Jack
inadvertently laughs at this point, it is as if she might hit him--if
her hands were not occupied with
Christine.]
JACK
You must accept that I've been more concerned about Betty and
the new baby than about
anything else. It's important for me not to get involved with
students anyway.
LAURA
All of that is irrelevant. Solomon had a thousand wives . . .
John! [Not 'Professor Curtis,' not
'Jack,' but precisely 'John,' and not exactly delivered with a sneer,
but definitely from a morally
superior position.] It will still come down to you and me . .
. that's not over yet. You'll see.
LESTER
[From off.] Laura! Are you ready to go?
[Jack and Laura turn toward the door to see Betty standing there quietly, smiling.]
LAURA
Coming! [Handing the baby to Jack, as she says to Betty.]
You certainly have a lovely baby.
LESTER
[Coming in with her coat.] Let's go!
JACK
Well, good luck. [Laura gives him a dirty look, as they leave.]
BETTY
[Continuing to smile.] She seems good with the baby.
JACK
I think she worked her way through high school as a babysitter.
BETTY
How nice. Maybe she'll be available for us. She's such
an accommodating girl . . . and will have
so much time on her hands now that the play is over. [She leaves.]
JACK
[To the baby.] It seems I'll be surrounded by women with time
on their hands . . . all plotting
against me. I have no idea what she meant by that Solomon reference,
but she seemed to think it
was profound. I wonder if your mother heard all that. She
seemed to, the way she was smiling.
And you, too . . . [Smiles.] but I hope you are on my side . . . even
if you are one of them.
[Cut back to the living room scene.]
HENRY
[To Christine.] It turned out to be just the right way for Laura
to handle it. Jack not only thought
more of her for the aggressiveness of that outburst, but decided that
this whole thing would
probably work itself out. He told me he'd been afraid he'd have
to break with her completely if
she'd set up too many sentimental emotional currents around the office.
Since she did do most of
the work there, he knew he needed her. But now it was up to her
to decide what she wanted to
do. Since he no longer felt threatened, he even found her new
stance engaging. He thought that
not only could he live with this, but it might be edifying to watch
a bright young college girl work
this kind of emotional overload out of her system. Surely she
couldn't sustain it long.
LAURA
Well, I don't believe I ever heard that analysis before.
CHRISTINE
And how did it work out?
LAURA
That will take us through at least two more plays.