MEMORY LIKE A PALE GREEN CLOCK
© by Richard Ploetz
All Rights Reserved
CAST
ROBERT: early 40ties, handsome, wears sport coat, slacks
LOUISE: early 40ties, slim, attractive, wears smart business suit, heels
WALTER: waiter, ancient, formal waiter’s attire
HELEN: 30ties, full-figure, attractive, wears black dress
SETTING
(A fine restaurant. ROBERT and LOUISE seated at a table downstage right, a glass of white wine before each -- the bottle, Pouilly Fume, half-drunk, in a silver ice bucket. LOUISE looking at her cell phone. Downstage left, a second table, more dimly lit.)
SCENE 1
ROBERT
(Swirls and sips the wine, relishing it)
Pouilly Fume . . . Marie Antoinette’s favorite. But didn’t we have Sancerre last time? What’s the French word for that, “silex”? Mmmm? Flinty? Succulent?
LOUISE
You’re a horse’s ass.
ROBERT
We had the Sancerre, I’m certain. Same label. Same vintner.
(beat)
Same year.
(beat)
Same grape.
LOUISE
This is lovely. We had this last time.
ROBERT
You’re right. Memory of an elephant. A lovely . . .
(Pause)
LOUISE
All right. Why the roses delivered to the office? Why this . . . extravagant evening? Did you do something naughty?
ROBERT
In class today in the middle of bullshitting about James Joyce’s “The Dead” . . . There’s a scene at the end of the party, Gabriel standing at the foot of the stairs looking up. His wife, Gretta, is there, shadowy, listening intently to something – distant. Someone singing. He’s struck by her grace and mystery, Joyce says, as though she were a symbol of something.
(beat)
At any rate, in the middle of this, it occurred to me that I love you. And ought to do something about it. We’ve survived--been pals, lovers, married - what, sixteen years? Oh, I know—in six months. But I could be run over by a truck tomorrow. So . . . a little spontaneous—joie de vivre—pre-anniversary hoo-ha.
LOUISE
You’re not having a naked man pop out of a cake?
ROBERT
Stick around. Salut.
(They touch wine glasses in a toast)
LOUISE
This is lovely, Bobbie. Really lovely. We’re going to have a wonderful time, aren’t we.
(LOUISE switches off her cell phone, puts it away in her purse)
ROBERT
I adore you. I know what that cost.
LOUISE
It feels like . . . Lets walk home after! Shall we?
ROBERT
From 83rd to 44th?
LOUISE
We used to walk all over this city in the old days. Remember? We didn’t think anything of it.
ROBERT
Ok. We’ll walk. And when we get back you know what I’m going to do? Light a candle, put on some Satie -- “Trois Gymnopedies”. . . and slowly undress you.
(WALTER appears)
WALTER
The wine is satisfactory?
ROBERT
Excellent, excellent. Marie Antoinette’s favorite!
WALTER
Ah. Have you looked at the menu? There is one small change this evening: grouper (pronounced “grope-her”) instead of swordfish.
ROBERT
Could you give us a moment?
(WALTER withdraws)
ROBERT
I love a waiter. He’s the priest interceding between God the Chef and us poor slobs. From oven to table. Comes and goes like the wind, hardly noticed, moving things right along.
(Beat)
LOUISE
Talk about undressing me.
ROBERT
First your blouse, draped across the back of a chair. Your skirt unzipped, your slip. Then I’ll take off your heels, one and then the other; unsnap your stockings, one and then the other. Down and off. Garter belt. Everything except your panties. Lie back, close your eyes, I’ll begin kissing . . .
LOUISE
Where will you begin?
ROBERT
Where would you . . . uh . . . like . . .
(HELEN is escorted to her table by WALTER – ROBERT becomes distracted by her)
LOUISE
My feet . . .
(LOUISE becomes aware of ROBERT looking at HELEN))
LOUISE
Why are you looking at her?
ROBERT
She looks familiar. I can’t quite place her, but . . .
LOUISE
Those big hips.
ROBERT
I can’t place her.
LOUISE
You’re always looking at women.
(beat)
Do you think she’s attractive?
(WALTER brings HELEN a martini, withdraws)
ROBERT
It’s like a seed stuck between the teeth.
LOUISE
Oh, I don’t think I like that. Her stuck between your teeth.
ROBERT
Quite a thought. Sure she’s attractive, but I find women attractive. They don’t have to be perfect. Some have fine breasts, some a certain light in the eye, some a particular timbre of voice—
LOUISE
You inspect every rump that goes by.
ROBERT
Guilty. Procreation and so forth. I hate to admit it but we really are mousetraps. Set to go off at the drop of a strap. Look at those Venus statuettes they dig out of caves in France. All ass and womb. They don’t even have heads for Chrissake! Us fellers been obsessed since day one.
(WALTER appears at their table, refills their wine glasses)
WALTER
Are we ready to order?
ROBERT
We’ve been talking here about the lure and danger of sex.
WALTER
If you want the chocolate soufflé for dessert, I suggest ordering now. It requires a full hour.
LOUISE
Yes! The chocolate soufflé.
(WALTER withdraws)
LOUISE
You didn’t have to tell him what we were talking about.
ROBERT
Why not? He’s the waiter.
(HELEN gets up and goes to the ladies room. Robert watches her go.)
ROBERT
I’m sorry. I’m just trying to place her. There’s something—
LOUISE
Something?
ROBERT
Something . . .
LOUISE
Familiar.
ROBERT
For all it matters, she could be a suit of armor in a museum. Cheese in the refrigerator. I’m just trying to—to—What are you having?
LOUISE
Soft shell crabs.
ROBERT
Your feelings are hurt. I’m sorry. But I haven’t done anything.
LOUISE
Mesclun salad.
ROBERT
I look at women. It’s natural. But I don’t do anything. I haven’t touched another woman since we’ve been together. Sixteen years. Nearly. You believe me, don’t you?
(No response. He sips the wine, burbles it on his tongue. She stares at him.)
LOUISE
I was a one night stand.
ROBERT
This is nice. Dry yet succulent. Flinty yet seductive. It reminds me of you. Yes, yes, I was a one-night stand for you. Here we are still standing. And we still make pretty damn good—
(WALTER appears at table. ROBERT continues, deliberately, for his benefit)
Fucking. You have everything I want—lovely up-curving breasts, long legs like the blades of sabers, high, firm, ass—
(to WALTER)
Wouldn’t you say my wife is desirable? You’ve had experience here. On a scale of one to ten?
WALTER
I recommend the sea bass, sir. Fresh this morning from Penobscot Bay.
LOUISE
(to WALTER)
He’s drunk. And not very funny. I’ll take the crabs and salad.
ROBERT
And another pipe of this excellent vino. In vino veritas, eh? I’ll have the Penobscot Bay bass and a salad.
LOUISE
(to WALTER)
You didn’t forget my chocolate soufflé?
WALTER
The soufflé will rise, madam, in due course.
(WALTER retires with the empty wine bottle)
ROBERT
Hips go round and round in the mind . . . I don’t know how it is with you. You never think about them?
LOUISE
What do you think about when you make love to me? Some fat behind you followed into an elevator? A memory? A part?
(WALTER returns with a new bottle, uncorks it, pours for Robert to taste. ROBERT swirls, sniffs, tastes.)
ROBERT
Excellent! It is the previous? Exactly?
WALTER
(inspects bottle)
Same label. Same grape. Same year. Same importer. Yes, sir.
(WALTER fills their glasses, puts bottle in ice bucket, withdraws.)
ROBERT
What do I think about . . .
LOUISE
When you make love to me.
ROBERT
Nothing . . . A rush . . .
(beat)
Humiliating things.
LOUISE
Humiliating.
ROBERT
I love it when you — deny me when I want you -- and I’m left . . .
LOUISE
Begging.
ROBERT
Begging.
LOUISE
I love that too.
(beat)
And I love it when you take – just take me--
ROBERT
I love it too — like a savage, a --Visigoth! I’m stronger and I. . . take, and you—you . . .
LOUISE
Yes.
(HELEN has returned from ladies room, and in crossing, exchanges glances with ROBERT, sits at her table, puts on glasses to check her cell phone for messages.)
LOUISE
Do you find me attractive?
(beat)
Do you see me?
(beat)
Do you love me, Bobbie?
ROBERT
It goes without saying.
(beat)
This evening -- is an attempt to say it.
(they drink)
ROBERT
Isn’t she familiar to you too? Someone’s secretary. An usher at the ballet? A friendly person with a clipboard? Very familiar but removed from usual context. She has a soft, fleshy—feathery—hen-like form. The way she sits there with head drawn slightly back as though near-sighted? Like she might suddenly—gobble!
(He breaks out in a guffaw. HELEN looks over—caught out, he looks away, and continues to LOUISE sotto voce.)
ROBERT
It gives her an adorable – imperious - querulous -- look.
LOUISE
She looks like a fat librarian.
(HELEN puts her cell away. Takes out tube of lipstick, opens it, and very deliberately applies bright red to her lips. Then applies blush to her cheeks. ROBERT and LOUISE watch as though spellbound. When she is finished with this little performance, HELEN puts glasses, lipstick and blush back in purse, and comes to rest.)
ROBERT
A student in my lit class?
LOUISE
Maybe you went out for a drink after.
ROBERT
Mathew Arnold? (recites) “Ah, love, let us be true to one another! For the world, which . . . land of dreams--” So on, so forth – “Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for . . . ” so on, so forth.
(brief pause)
Alas, no . . .
LOUISE
Maybe the juke was playing something slow. You asked her to dance.
ROBERT
Did I. I can’t connect an event to that face.
LOUISE
Maybe it wasn’t a face you were connecting to.
ROBERT
I had nothing to do with her, Ouisie. Absolutely.
(beat)
I wonder, if I heard her voice--
LOUISE
Would you like to fuck her?
(beat)
Do you want to fuck her!
ROBERT
Since we are speaking theoretically . . . There’s something . . . welcoming in that form. Try putting yourself in my shoes. Stop being so goddamn snotty. What do you care that I find women interesting—fascinating? I love you. I talk to you like I’m talking to me. Right? No dancing around. I love you.
(beat)
I love sitting in a classy joint with you drinking a lovely bottle of Sancerre.
LOUISE
Pouilly Fume.
ROBERT
Come on. We’re going to have fun tonight. Right? Sixteen years. Damn near. You ask me questions, I try to be honest.
(beat)
I’ll move my chair so I can’t see her.
(As ROBERT shifts his chair, lights come down to dim on their table, come up on Helen’s table.)
SCENE 2
(WALTER approaches Helen’s table.)
WALTER
Everything is satisfactory, Miss?
HELEN
Is a waiter a bartender?
(beat)
You listen to people’s stories, lend a sympathetic ear.
WALTER
A good waiter, Miss, is midwife to a memorable dining experience.
HELEN
You’re a survivor, plainly.
(beat)
Don’t mind me, Herman, I’m . . . I’m a little--
WALTER
Walter.
HELEN
Water? No, I intend getting pissed.
(indicating her martini)
This is perfect.
WALTER
Beefeater. Straight up. Olives. Three.
HELEN
Make it another.
WALTER
Walter.
HELEN
Walter? Your name is Walter. I’m sorry, I got it in my head it was Herman.
(beat)
But no, Walter, everything is not satisfactory this evening.
WALTER
I’m very sorry, Miss—
HELEN
Those people, who are they? They keep looking at me. Am I . . . what?
(beat)
What’s going through their minds? They keep staring. As though a mystery gets solved by staring.
WALTER
Would you like to change tables?
HELEN
I was at a party and a woman seemed to know me. So I think I must know her too. We keep talking in a familiar way, and I wonder, is she the mother of one of my clients? Did I sleep with her? I don’t know. I can’t remember. It’s humiliating. We spend the rest of the evening avoiding each other.
WALTER
It’s easily done, Miss. We’re not crowded this—
HELEN
Memory makes you a whore. What you don’t remember you make up. Right? Right?
(Brief pause)
WALTER
This evening. Other evenings . . . One is very like another.
HELEN
Fine. I don’t know who they are.
(brief pause)
A friend of mine died. A week ago. A dear friend. That’s why I’m here. Celebrating. She was so full of life. So . . . alive.
(beat)
Sit down.
(WALTER remains standing)
Crissie was a photographer. She was standing beside the tracks shooting a train that was coming. She leaned in to get the shot, her eye to the viewfinder. The train brushed her shoulder: she was killed. But she got the picture. One hell of a picture. A killer train barreling right at you. What do you think?
(WALTER says nothing)
HELEN
You! You don’t know. That photo killed my girl.
WALTER
You came here often.
HELEN
We never--
WALTER
I remember you at that table. Where they’re sitting. It’s her birthday. You’re both happy. She asks me to take your picture—with her camera. The two of you. Yes, I remember.
HELEN
The camera flipped up in the air and came down on her face. Maybe even gently, but severed something. That’s what killed her, not the train. The train brushed against her. It was the camera. The camera was Crissie. As though her own hand had come down and destroyed her.
(WALTER withdraws as lights come down to dim on Helen’s table, come up on Robert and Louise’s)
SCENE 3
LOUISE
What do you think her name is? Rose?
(beat)
She’s a hot fudge sundae. Look at the way she licks her lips. How could you love someone who licks her lips like that?
ROBERT
Ok, Rose. PHD in art history. Restores paintings. The old Dutch guys— Rembrandt, Hals, Vermeer.
(he frames HELEN with his hands)
Look at her, infinitely tender and caring. Vermeer. Like she could . . . Like she restores to life old paintings . . . by sleeping with them.
(Brief pause)
LOUISE
Why didn’t you marry someone with hips? I don’t have hips. Not those. And I have a boy’s ass. You like Big—malformed – gross -- Juggernauts, tottering on--
(beat)
A wonder you like me at all.
(WALTER brings their salads—holds out pepper grinder questioningly)
ROBERT
What’s life without a grind or two.
(WALTER grinds pepper on Robert’s salad. Offers same to LOUISE)
LOUISE
Yes.
(WALTER grinds, withdraws)
LOUISE
She’s been looking at us, too. Tying to place us. Do you think she knows us?
ROBERT
Three people who can’t quite place one another?
LOUISE
You and I know each other.
(beat)
Don’t we?
(They stare at each other. WALTER delivers another martini to HELEN, withdraws)
LOUISE
Rose, then. Has been aware of your ogling and simply wonders why a man with an attractive wife would be interested in her.
(WALTER appears, takes their salads away)
LOUISE
She felt your eyes on her as if they were your hands. But what do I care. After all this time? What do I care if you fuck her, Bobbie?
(beat)
I’m pretty too, aren’t I?
ROBERT
You’re prettier than all of them.
(Beat)
LOUISE
You’re hopeless!
(she weeps, briefly)
One day you’ll leave me.
ROBERT
Ouisie . . .
LOUISE
Say it!
(beat)
Don’t . . . say anything. Just . . . disappear. I don’t think I could—
ROBERT
Ouisie—
LOUISE
I don’t know how we—
ROBERT
Louise.
(beat)
You’re beautiful.
LOUISE
Don’t you want me?
ROBERT
I have you.
(Beat)
LOUISE
It kills me when you look at other women.
ROBERT
Don’t you look at men? The Polish butcher? The one who calls you “Princess”? Don’t you wonder how big his swantzieis? Big and . . . like a bottle brush.
(beat)
Tell me. He flirts. A little taste of my kishka, Princess? Fresh. Blutworst? Very nice today.
(beat)
We’re supposed to be having a good time. This is our anniversary.
LOUISE
Not quite.
(WALTER brings their entrees)
WALTER
The plates are hot. Bone appetite (pronounced “bone appetite”).
(HELEN holds up her empty martini glass to WALTER – he acknowledges and withdraws)
ROBERT
(perfect imitation of Walter)
Bone appetite.
(WALTER delivers another martini to HELEN, withdraws)
ROBERT
I’m sorry, but sometimes when you see a person walk it reminds you of when you saw them walk, once. The circumstance comes back.
LOUISE
Did that cow-like walk elicit the “ah hah!”? But maybe first time there was more: naked, leaning in the bedroom door, glistening with . . . with--
ROBERT
The fish is good. How’s the crab? The secret is soaking four hours in buttermilk. No, her walk did nothing for me.
(beat)
My memory. Jog it.
LOUISE
Maybe if she took off her blouse?
ROBERT
Eating the Penobscot Bay bass bare breasted? Maybe I should inquire if I might fuck her—the instant -- of ejaculation -- triggering deepest memories?
(beat)
Memory is elusive. Like time. Like dreaming. Like a clock with a mind of its own . . .
(WALTER approaches Robert and Louise’s table)
WALTER
Everything is satisfactory?
LOUISE
(to WALTER)
What’s your name?
WALTER
Walter, madam.
LOUISE
Have you worked here a long time?
WALTER
(to ROBERT)
You’re finished, sir?
LOUISE
(To WALTER)
Do you like it?
WALTER
They treat me well.
(WALTER takes their plates, withdraws)
ROBERT
You’re something. Flirting with the waiter.
LOUISE
He’s a mystery.
ROBERT
Oh?
LOUISE
He could have a life.
ROBERT
Really. He’s the waiter. His sleeve brushed my shoulder when he took my plate. He could have killed me, but . . . When the dishes are washed and the lights go out, he doesn’t go someplace else.
LOUISE
He doesn’t go someplace else?
ROBERT
Where does he go? He disappears. Until next time. Until required.
LOUISE
Oh?
ROBERT
Until we’re here.
LOUISE
You could wait outside until closing. Follow him into a bar—home—the woods.
ROBERT
And what would that prove? Our Walter is a bar fly, or a serial killer? It doesn’t matter—he’s no more Walter the Waiter.
LOUISE
Unfortunately I’m not one of your panting little students, seduced by your voice. I do love your voice, Bobbie, but I’ve learned to listen and know when the bullshit flies. “Oh, Professor, say again!” Does she fix her blouse like this—
(she unbuttons her blouse daringly)
--Hanging on your every word? And you go on spouting, staring down her rain spout--
(WALTER appears)
WALTER
The soufflé is imminent. You would care for dessert, sir?
ROBERT
You’re a survivor, plainly. Adaptable as the day is long.
WALTER
I recommend the tart Tatin —very fresh.
ROBERT
Would you call yourself a survivor?
WALTER
Well, sir, since you ask, I am a Survivor.
ROBERT
Ouisie and me, we’re survivors. Sixteen years.
WALTER
I am a Survivor.
ROBERT
Yes, yes—
LOUISE
(getting it—to ROBERT)
He’s a Survivor.
ROBERT
A survivor?
WALTER
I am a Survivor.
ROBERT
(it dawns)
Oh. Oh. I’m sorry. I . . .
WALTER
I lost my parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews. All. My wife who died recently, also a Survivor. Two years she hid in the cellar of a barn outside Krakow, and survived. We don’t consider them true Survivors. You would like to hear about the camps.
ROBERT
Uh—
WALTER
I fed the ovens. That way I survived. Ironic, isn’t it. I’m the waiter. Chef and his ovens. The bodies, the bodies . . . Dessert, sir?
ROBERT
Uh -- tart Tatin.
(WALTER withdraws)
LOUISE
My God, I had no idea. I didn’t mean to make light. It’s not something you--
ROBERT
I want to see the tattoo.
LOUISE
What?
ROBERT
I want to see his tattoo.
LOUISE
I can’t believe you’re—
ROBERT
It’s not something you make conversation about.
LOUISE
He has to tell it. When someone asks. It’s inside him—he has to, to--
ROBERT
I want to see his--
(WALTER appears with Robert’s tart Tatin)
WALTER
I put the cream fresh next to your tart, not on top. I hope you don’t mind, sir.
ROBERT
(struggling to get out what he wants to say)
I—I want—I want to—to--see—
LOUISE
(in a panic—interceding)
Order another bottle! Bobbie!
ROBERT
(struggling)
Uh—yeah—ok—a bottle. I mean, I want—do you—do you have a, a, a . . .
WALTER
I’m afraid I don’t, sir.
(brief pause)
I’m out of that. You drank the last.
(brief pause)
But, I have another. A ‘43. I might recommend to follow the first toward dessert. It has aged. Precisely.
ROBERT
(still rather in shock)
Is it—good?
WALTER
Mineral underbody overlaid with essence of melon, kiwi, mango. But the treat, sir, is the aftertaste: cigar – burnt ash.
(beat)
All balanced. Profound.
(beat)
Triste.
(Beat)
LOUISE
Thank you, Walter. We’ll take it.
(WALTER withdraws. HELEN is preparing to leave.)
LOUISE
Rose. She’s leaving. Why don’t you speak to her? Maybe that’s all it would take. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” “I don’t think so.” “Yes, I’m sure I do, hearing your voice, smelling your perfume . . .” “Well, I suppose it’s possible . . .” “Yes, certainly it’s possible. . . I think I’m beginning to recall you, from somewhere--”
(ROBERT arrests HELEN as she is passing their table)
ROBERT
Excuse me! Don’t I know you from somewhere?
HELEN
I don’t think so.
ROBERT
Yes, I’m sure I do, hearing your voice, smelling your perfume . . .
HELEN
I suppose it’s possible.
ROBERT
Yes, certainly it’s--
LOUISE
Sit. Won’t you? We seem to . . . How do you know my husband?
HELEN
I don’t. I don’t know you, either. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.
ROBERT
I think I’m beginning to recall . . .
HELEN
It’s terrible when our hopes are destroyed. We think we’re on the cusp of gaining someone, only to lose them forever. It’s a betrayal and leaves a bitter taste. But it’s not uncommon: you think—feel certain—you know someone. It turns out you don’t. They hadn’t been there after all. It’s hard to turn away from that and go on. The universe contracts, you grow perceptibly older, feel the cold hand of . . .
(she laughs)
All over something as simple and, well, harmless, as mistaken identity.
(she goes to leave but stops)
Saudade. Such a melancholy word. Saudade. Means nostalgia, but nostalgia, maybe, for what never was. People who most miss Paris, they say, have never been there.
(beat)
She would have loved this place. The dark beams, the worn parquet. The waiter. The sauce Béarnaise.
(beat)
Was I here with her?
(beat)
Now she’s gone. I won’t recognize her in all the old familiar places. She’s my memory of her.
(HELEN exits as WALTER appears with Louise’s chocolate soufflé, and ROBERT watches Helen disappear)
WALTER
Your soufflé, madam. A warning: there is a small puff of steam when first you break the crust.
ROBERT
Walter. I would please like to send a drink, please, to the young lady’s table. A . . . Courvoisier.
WALTER
The lady has left, sir.
ROBERT
But . . . She’ll return. A scarf forgotten, or . . .
WALTER
There is no scarf.
ROBERT
Does she come here often?
WALTER
I’ve not seen her.
ROBERT
Have you seen me?
(beat)
I’ve been here.
WALTER
It’s possible, sir. I’m not here all the time.
ROBERT
You’re somewhere else. At other times.
WALTER
Will you be having coffee, sir?
ROBERT
Uh--
WALTER
Espresso?
(beat – decides for him)
Courvoisier.
(WALTER withdraws)
LOUISE
The soufflé is heavenly. Would you like some?
(beat)
Don’t be so down in the mouth. You can’t have everyone.
(beat)
Some night when you’re lying half asleep, your lovely wife wrapped around you, like a rope—
ROBERT
She’ll come. I know how it is. Memory . . .
(WALTER appears with snifter of brandy for ROBERT)
WALTER
Madam wants a coffee? Espresso?
LOUISE
We’ll be leaving. Call a cab. Walter.
(WALTER remains standing at table)
end