Etiquette and Vitriol by Nicky Silver (classic fiction .txt) 📗

a youth serum!

AMY: I’m going to hum.

CLAIRE: He penetrates me and I am prepubescent!

AMY: Frére Jacques, Frére Jacques, dormez-vous?

CLAIRE: I am a fetus in utero when we make love!

AMY: Daddy would be so hurt if he knew.

CLAIRE: Oh, your father doesn’t care.

AMY: He will! I’ll tell him tomorrow and he’ll leave you. And I’ll live with him. And we’ll go to the park every day, except when it rains, when we’ll go to the movies. And once a year we’ll go to visit you. I promise. No matter where you’re living, after Daddy’s gone, no doubt, a cold-water flat. But we’ll bring scones and day-old bread. You can get a job like Grandma at the end, tearing sheets of foam rubber into chunks for stuffing pillows, until your hands become gnarled with rheumatoid arthritis! Tony could support you, but he’ll be dead after Daddy kills him!

CLAIRE (She has been applying lipstick): Do you like my lips? They’re Bakolite.

AMY: What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see you’re throwing your life away on that two-faced, foul-breathed sycophant?

CLAIRE: He worships the ground, over which I glide.

AMY: He’s twenty-four!

CLAIRE: And I am sixteen.

AMY: He thinks you can help him.

CLAIRE: We can help each other.

AMY: You buy him things.

CLAIRE: Tokens.

AMY: You feed him.

CLAIRE: Snacks!

AMY: He thinks you can introduce him to people.

CLAIRE: I can. I’m poised. I say, “Tony, this is so and so. So and so, this is Tony.”

AMY: People who can help him. He’s a struggling artist. You’re a wealthy woman with wealthy friends. You’re completely blind.

CLAIRE: I’d just as soon you refrain from innuendo.

AMY: I’ll say it directly.

CLAIRE: If I didn’t assume you were completely drunk, I’d send you to your room.

AMY: I’m trying to help you!

CLAIRE: Don’t bother.

AMY: I shouldn’t.

CLAIRE: I think you’re jealous!

AMY: What?!

CLAIRE: It’s as plain as my nose on your face. You have some nitwit, school-girl crush on Tony yourself! Well, I saw him first and you can’t have him!

AMY: I don’t want him!

CLAIRE: Of course you do. Your affair has ended badly so you’ve affixed your emotions to Tony. You’re in love with him, aren’t you? Well, young lady, I forbid it!

AMY: I am not in love with him. I’m a lesbian! I told you that. As of today, I never want to see another man, let alone sleep with one!

CLAIRE: Oooo! Don’t be ridiculous! You’ll sleep with lots of men. Scores!

AMY: I will not.

CLAIRE: Hundreds!

AMY: I won’t!

CLAIRE: You’re being childish.

AMY: Well, I am, Mother, after all, fifteen.

CLAIRE: Years old?

AMY: Yes.

CLAIRE: Really?

AMY: Yes.

CLAIRE: I would’ve sworn—why aren’t you in school?

AMY: I left school two years ago.

CLAIRE: I should’ve noticed.—Where was I? Oh yes. You’ll sleep with hundreds of men if I have to tie you down myself!

(Philip enters, unnoticed.)

AMY: You can’t make me!

CLAIRE: Just watch.

AMY: I’m a lesbian. I’m a lesbian. I’m a lesbian!!

CLAIRE: You will be heterosexual, young lady, and promiscuous at that! Now! I’ll have no more of this discussion!

AMY: I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!

(Amy runs off, but collides with Philip.)

Philip!

CLAIRE: Darling! What are you doing here?

PHILIP: I live here. This is my home. I live here.

CLAIRE: Welcome home!

AMY: Does this mean I lose his room?

CLAIRE: Yes, it does.

AMY: I hate everyone everywhere.

CLAIRE: Don’t be silly. You don’t know everyone everywhere.

AMY: I don’t care. I hate them anyway.

CLAIRE: Dear Philip, you remember your sister, the cherub who oozes graciousness like musk?

PHILIP: How are you, Amy?

AMY: Pregnant, bitter and hell-bent on revenge.

CLAIRE: That’s right dear. Let out the poisons.

AMY: No one takes me seriously. Beauty is no passport to success.

CLAIRE: Philip, angel, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, because I am. I’m always happy to see you. I’m delighted! What a joy to have my children around me.

AMY: You look sick, Philip. I’m a lesbian now.

PHILIP: That’s nice.

CLAIRE: She’s not. You’re not. She’s not. I’ve forbidden it.

AMY: Do you mind if I wear your old clothes?

CLAIRE: A lonely life of emotional stoicism and hip-hugger trousers, you’re bound to regret.

AMY: I like lesbians. I always have. I find them direct. What do you think of lesbians, Philip?

PHILIP: I don’t know. They have their place.

CLAIRE: Why didn’t you write that you were coming home?

AMY: Mother, we haven’t settled the question of my sexual identity yet.

CLAIRE: Oh go to New Jersey, have your child, and fornicate with sheep for all I care.

AMY: I know what you’re up to. You think I just want attention, don’t you? You think I’m acting out of some infantile, neurotic need, don’t you? You think if you ignore my rebellion, it’ll pass, don’t you?

CLAIRE: Frankly, no. That hadn’t occurred to me.

AMY: Oh.

CLAIRE: My indifference was sincere.

PHILIP: I meant to write, but I didn’t want to write my news. I mean, I didn’t want to write it. That’s the same thing, isn’t?

CLAIRE: Watch how I dote on your brother.

PHILIP: I wanted to tell you in person. I hope you’ll be happy. I hope we can be a family again.

AMY: Again?

CLAIRE: How was London, dear?

PHILIP: Foggy.

CLAIRE: So they say.

AMY: It’s degrading, what passes for conversation in this house.

CLAIRE: Can I get you a drink?

PHILIP: That would be nice. I mean, that would be nice.

AMY: I’d like a drink.

CLAIRE: You’ve had enough. In your absence, your sister has lapsed into a state of adolescent alcoholism.

AMY (Swiping the bottle): Don’t be silly. I’m too old to be an adolescent.

CLAIRE: Your father returns tomorrow, so the house will be full.

AMY: You look rather ghastly, Philip. And you keep repeating yourself.

CLAIRE: I do wish I’d known you were coming. I’d’ve planned a party. I’ve missed you so.

AMY: I said, “You look rather ghastly and you keep repeating yourself—”

CLAIRE: I could’ve invited all your old friends!

AMY: I said—Oh I give up.

CLAIRE (Handing him his drink): Do you remember Skipper Thompson?

PHILIP: I’m afraid not.

CLAIRE: Of course you do. He was a charming boy. Red hair.

PHILIP: No.

CLAIRE: Cherubic face and sinewy forearms?

PHILIP: I’m blank.

CLAIRE: Think, think, think. Large, blue-green eyes and freckles on his buttocks?

PHILIP: I-I-Nothing.

CLAIRE: Come, come, come. Strong trim thighs