Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.
Previous Scene in a Nutshell: Phillip, Barbara, and Marcia share their memories of what really happened, from each one’s perspective, during the seduction attempt on Phillip by the 7 high school girls, nine years earlier.
CHARACTERS:
(As they appear, or when they make a strong presence in other characters’ dialogue):
Phillip Dellaney: Age 26, a behemoth of a man, at a height of 6' 7", and pushing 300 pounds, having thick, muscular shoulders and hips, and with thighs like sinewy, coiled springs, not just capable of carrying such a load through life, but carrying it at a lively pace. A recent seminary graduate, he will be an odd duck as a priest. He is searching for something with all his heart.
Arthur DelaTurie: Age 25, a very slim, willowy, young man who wears his effeminacy comfortably, even defiantly. His clothing is casual but flamboyant. A former art student at Notre Dame, he now works for a design company in New York City. He has a scar across his throat, still pink, and a bruise on his cheek.
Setting: Phillip Dellaney’s upstairs bedroom, tidied in readiness for guests. Entrance to room, upstage, right. Furniture is sparse: a very long bed, centerstage, right; several inexpensive chairs, downstage, center. On the wall above the dresser, upstage center, Jesus still keeps watch over the room from his two-foot-tall, highly-polished, dark, mahogany cross.
Time: 1953
At Rise: A very uncomfortable alliance: Sitting face-to-face, PHILLIP seems more protective of his space than does ARTHUR, who holds a half-cup of tea, in its saucer, balanced on his lap. His eyes are flitting about the room, little smiles appearing and as quickly disappearing from his lips.
ARTHUR:
Your mother is delightful, simply a delight. A little bit uncomfortable with me at first, I felt. Normally, I’d have put on my your loss face but for her, I figured I’d just go along, and sure enough, she warmed to me. She’s a keeper, my love.
PHILLIP:
Don’t!
ARTHUR:
Don’t? Oh …
PHILLIP:
She regretted having to do all that phoning and rescheduling.
ARTHUR:
No problema, mi amigo. I’d have otherwise merely wandered through the city.
(Beat)
I met your brother.
PHILLIP:
What? On the streets? In the city?
ARTHUR:
No, no, silly. Here. Downstairs, while your mother was preparing my tea.
(Downcast)
I don’t think your brother likes me.
PHILLIP:
He’s rather conservative.
ARTHUR:
Rather. But I think it goes deeper than that. Have you—have you talked to him?
PHILLIP:
We talk, Arthur. He is my brother. We talk.
ARTHUR:
No, I mean … have you—Does he know—
PHILLIP:
Arthur … look at me! There is nothing—nothing for him to know.
ARTHUR:
But surely …
PHILLIP:
Nothing.
[ARTHUR, avoiding PHILLIP’S eyes, his hands trembling, takes a sip of his tea and replaces the cup to the saucer]
PHILLIP (Continues):
You had to be so … over the top out there?
ARTHUR:
O-o-over the top? I’m afraid I don’t know what—Is that … is that some kind of seminary-speak, Phillip?
PHILLIP:
Sarcasm aside, you know what I’m talking about. Mom already told us you were standing behind her. There was no need to say anything at all.
ARTHUR:
(Eyes starting to brim)
My goodness! All I did was say hello and wave.
PHILLIP:
Oh, yes! Oh, yes, the wave.
(Dismissively)
Okay. I know. I know, Arthur …. Forget it.
ARTHUR:
I embarrassed you, didn’t I? Oh, dear, I believe I did … I did embarrass you.
PHILLIP:
Let’s just forget it, okay?
ARTHUR:
That’s what it is. I embarrassed you in front of your guests. You had those two young women in your room? And silly me—I went and-and-and interrupted it?
PHILLIP:
That’s enough!
ARTHUR:
(Stricken: his posture, his facial expression… everything … seems to collapse)
Phillip, please, I am trying. I’m sorry. Please!
(Extends his arms, palms open)
PHILLIP:
(Arms crossed, looks away)
For God’s sake, get hold of yourself!
ARTHUR:
(Trying to regain control: his head making quick, jerky nods, his eyes blinking frantically)
Give me a moment; I’ll be fine. This—this is not how—how I’d … envisioned it. It’s not how I’d p-planned it after I got the letter.
PHILLIP:
(Softening)
Maybe that’s the problem.
[PHILLIP holds out his right hand, palm up, and ARTHUR grasps it, greedily with both hands. After a moment PHILLIP tries to withdraw his, and ARTHUR resists. There is a palpable inner struggle before ARTHUR releases his hold]
PHILLIP:
You’ve done too much envisioning, Arthur. Too much planning. You’ve been too much in your head. You’ve magnified everything. You’ve invented things that never happened. You’re forcing past ghosts into the future and trying to breathe life into them.
ARTHUR:
Are you trying to say nothing happened—back then?
PHILLIP:
I’m trying to say it was back then. Eight years ago. And yes, yes, Arthur, nothing happened.
ARTHUR:
How can you say nothing happened, Phillip? How can you say that? We kissed.
PHILLIP:
(As though ARTHUR’S words were living things, PHILLIP flattens his palms against them)
No!
(Casting an over-the-shoulder glance at the door, he whispers, hoarsely,)
You kissed me!
ARTHUR:
(Speaking in a subdued voice)
You returned it. I’ll keep my voice down, but … but don’t tell me you didn’t return it. Don’t tell me that, Phillip.
PHILLIP:
(After a long moment of silence)
Yes. Yes, I returned it. I was just a kid. We were both just kids. A-a freshman in a university as big as a city. Scared. Confused. Lonely. I meet someone during registration who seems as confused as I—
ARTHUR:
I was … I was! But I was not confused—never!—I was never confused about who I was. I had long since tried to conceal who I was. And I wasn’t concealing it then. You knew ….
PHILLIP:
Yes, I knew.
ARTHUR:
I mean, what was not to know, right?
(A short, forced laugh)
And still, you befriended me.
PHILLIP:
I did. And I never, for one moment, thought it would be anything more than being a friend.
ARTHUR:
Well, I thought it would be more. And I think if you’ll be honest with yourself, only part of you tried to keep it a friendship. The other part of you, dear Phillip, kept peeking up through the friendship camouflage. I picked up on it soon enough.
PHILLIP:
This makes me very uncomfortable, Arthur.
ARTHUR:
Of course, it does. Because we’re talking about who we are. Who we really are. Identity.
(Beat)
We kissed, Phillip!
PHILLIP:
But it went no further than a kiss. I’m not ready—I’ve never been ready—I will never be ready to … casually throw on the—the cloak of homosexuality.
ARTHUR:
Casually! We kissed! And you enjoyed it.
(Desperately)
For God’s sake, don’t take that away from me!
PHILLIP:
(Raking his fingers through his hair)
Yes. I did. It was unexpected. Spontaneous. It-it-it was thrilling—and kind of … I don’t know, naughty? Forbidden. It was like—it had a little-children-playing-doctor feel about it.
ARTHUR:
Ooooh … noooooo, noooooo, Phillip. You can’t … I-I carried the warmth and the-the pressure of your lips against mine for eight years. Eight solid years. Don’t cheapen it now.
PHILLIP:
I’m not trying to cheapen anything. But before you—and I—
ARTHUR:
Kissed. You can say it.
PHILLIP:
There’d only been family kisses ... before.
ARTHUR:
That’s not what you told me eight years ago …
(Bitter laugh)
… Hearing it almost took away all my courage. Almost made me give up hope before I made my … first move. I mean … how could I compete with, what, six hot—girls?
PHILLIP:
Sev—um, seven, but that’s not the point.
ARTHUR:
Seven? Seven! I would’ve turned on my heel right then if I’d known there were seven!
PHILLIP:
That’s not the point, and you’re making light of something I told you in confidence back then. And I hardly considered being pawed and mauled by seven girls as a conquest—as a trophy incident.
ARTHUR:
Oh, love! Then why would you have confided in me about it?
PHILLIP:
Don’t!
ARTHUR:
I’m sorry … you’re breaking my heart, but I’m sorry. I—but why did you?
PHILLIP:
You really don’t remember? Arthur … you’ve managed to twist the sequence of events around. It was after my shame and embarrassment … of allowing myself to be vulnerable with you …
(Beat)
It was only then—afterward …
(Glancing at the door and lowering his voice)
…after we kissed that I confided in you about the seven girls. Not before.
[ARTHUR’S face takes on a strained look like he’s trying to remember]
PHILLIP (Continues):
Don’t you see? I was trying to justify to myself … to you … I was trying to explain away my reason for … for kissing you. That’s why I rushed in, at first to convince you I was not a homo—I was not like—
ARTHUR:
That’s how you saw me? A homo? And you made up a fantasy to-to distance yourself from just another fairy?
PHILLIP:
No! Oh, Jesus, no! Only for the length of time it took me to tell you about the incident. But I’d no sooner finished than I realized—I couldn’t deny I’d—
(Mouths the words “kissed you back.”)
It was precisely then I had such a need to convince you—and I have that need now to convince you—that my returned kiss was the end result of a year of doubting myself, wondering why I hadn’t responded differently to the girls’ advances.
(Beat)
I remember … clearly I remember, a tiny, flickering part of me that tried very hard, back then, to respond differently to the girls. I wanted to. God. I wanted to.
ARTHUR:
Those two … who were here when I arrived? Were they two of the—villainous seven?
[PHILLIP nods, his eyes closed]
ARTHUR (Continues):
Very attractive. If I were you and weren’t who I am … and nine years earlier weren’t who I was … I’d have pounced on 'em back then.
PHILLIP
(After a short laugh)
Sure you would!
ARTHUR:
Like a cat on a mouse! Mice. One-by-one. Like a harvest of seven mice, love.
PHILLIP:
I’ve asked you not to use that word.
ARTHUR:
I’ll try to not do it again.
(Beat)
But Phillip, listen to me. I am who I am. And eight years ago, I knew what I was. I’ve always known. I didn’t fight it. Because I was what I was.
(Beat)
I was lucky in that respect. Some of us are slower to recognize it—and even after that, are slower to accept it. There were—there are social consequences to accepting it.
(He lifts his chin and runs his forefinger across the pink scar on his neck)
PHILLIP:
You didn’t have that back then.
ARTHUR:
The bruise is recent.
(Presses his cheek and winces)
The other was botched surgery, performed in an alleyway by a young studly fellow I’d met—where else?—in a bar.
(Beat)
I tend to bring out the fear in men. Some of them feel it’s their duty to punish me on behalf of all of them.
PHILLIP:
I’m sorry that happens.
ARTHUR:
(Cautiously holds out his hand)
Phillip?
PHILLIP:
(Stares at ARTHUR’S hand a long, uncomfortable moment, before taking it, then answers in a low voice, without looking directly at him)
Yes?
ARTHUR:
Why did you send the letter?
PHILLIP:
(Looking up and holding ARTHUR’S gaze)
I wanted to ask—
(Struggling)
I needed to get your answer to a question.
[At this juncture, PHILLIP gently pulls his hand from ARTHUR’S, gets to his feet, and crosses to the dresser. He pauses to glance up at the crucifix, then opens the dresser drawer and removes the Confidential magazine. Returning to his chair, he sits and thumbs through the pages to find the one he is looking for.]
PHILLIP (Continues):
Have you read anything about … her?
ARTHUR:
(Taking the magazine and looking down at the picture)
But of course—how could I not have? It’s been in the papers. The New York Times. Christine Jorgensen is America’s first sex-change recipient. I haven’t read this one.
PHILLIP:
Want to take a moment?
ARTHUR:
(Setting it on the floor)
No. What’s your question?
PHILLIP:
(Holds out his hand and ARTHUR gathers it in)
Wouldn’t this solve most of your problems?
ARTHUR:
This? Do you think I consider what I am a problem?
PHILLIP:
(His free hand indicating ARTHUR’S neck)
Well? It almost got you killed—your attraction to men.
(Beat)
Women are attracted to men … naturally.
ARTHUR:
Not … all … women ….
(Wounded; fighting back tears, he yanks his hand from PHILLIP'S)
What you’re saying is my attraction is unnatural … I am unnatural … I’m a freak …. Is that what you’re saying?
PHILLIP:
According to God’s blueprint for procreation, yes, Arthur. Your attraction is unnatural. No, no, you’re not a freak.
ARTHUR:
I’m not … as long as I slip into a slinky dress, throw on a wig, paint my face? Oh, Phillip …
(Beat)
How dare you! How dare you … pontificate what I am—who I am—who I should be! How dare you!
[Emotionally spent, ARTHUR slumps forward in his chair, buries his face in his hands, and his thin shoulders spasm with his sobs. PHILLIP stares down at his back, his own eyes filling. Then, closing his eyes, he begins to move his lips. After a moment he places his hand on ARTHUR’S back. The silence continues a while longer]
PHILLIP:
(To ARTHUR’S back)
I have much to learn if I’m going to be a priest.
ARTHUR:
(Sitting up, wiping his face, sniffing)
If?
PHILLIP:
Did I say that?
ARTHUR:
Phillip, why did you bring out that magazine?
PHILLIP:
(Looking away, and then back)
Well … I wanted to show it to you. I thought it would help.
ARTHUR:
Why was it so important to hear my answer to your question? Truly … Why? And why did you buy the magazine in the first place?
PHILLIP:
Well, I thought—I figured the article might help—
ARTHUR:
No. No, no. Look.
(Recovers magazine from the floor and points to the bottom of the cover)
This magazine’s four months old. See? I remember passing by it on a newsstand back in the winter. It would have been off the shelves three months ago.
(smiling at PHILLIP)
You’ve had this magazine for some time, Love. I’m sure a long time before you sent your letter to me.
[PHILLIP studies his hands in his lap, and after a moment he slowly nods but continues to keep his eyes from ARTHUR’S]
ARTHUR (Continues):
It won’t be easy, you know.
[ARTHUR stands and looks down at PHILLIP who appears intrigued with his nails, running a thumb over the surface of each. ARTHUR bends down and gives PHILLIP’S cheek a kiss. He moves toward the door but stops a few feet from it, and turns]
ARTHUR (Continues):
I’ll be here for you. I’ll always be here for you, Love. You know how to reach me.
END OF SCENE 4
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Author Notes
Thank you, Sayan Ghosh, on Unsplash for your very evocative picture
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