Linda Rosenkrantz - Talk

EMILY: Poor Philippe, he’s very boring. You know there’s one thing about Philippe and Michael Christy that scares the shit out of me. They sit exactly the same way, with their legs wrapped like this, that double wrap.

MARSHA: It’s very faggy.

EMILY: I thought Michael Christy was queer when I met him. As a matter of fact, when I was in London creating a scandal with him, I told everyone including Philippe it wasn’t possible because he was queer. It was a defense, I was terrified that I wouldn’t get out of Europe alive with my belongings, my packages, my pots, my pans, my letters. I’m not sure I did . I guess Michael Christy was the most interesting man in my life.

MARSHA: I’m tired of talking about Michael Christy.

EMILY: I am too. He’s a bore because he’s a big baby.

MARSHA: They all are. Zeke is the biggest baby who ever lived, he’s like a three-year-old child.

EMILY: There is almost nothing mature about him.

MARSHA: Except his old-age potbelly.

EMILY: I wonder how mature I am.

MARSHA: I’m a baby too, but at least I’m trying to grow up a little bit. Wait a second until I’m out of the bathroom.

EMILY: Why is the door suddenly being closed? Are you shagrugging or something? You know when you think of it, you’ve actually got a very weird list.

MARSHA: Why?

EMILY: They’re all people you can’t stand. The only one you ever talk about with any semblance of feeling is Zeke. Certainly not Eliot.

MARSHA: I do have a semblance of feeling for Eliot, I still chew his chewing gum.

EMILY: You can’t stand him.

MARSHA: I know it. You’re right, once again.

EMILY: I, on the other hand, am quite fond of a lot of people on my list.

MARSHA: I’m friendly with more of mine than you are.

EMILY: I’m not friendly with any of them, I’m fond of them. I’m also fond of this ketchup trying to get out of the bottle. Which ones are you friendly with?

MARSHA: Tim.

EMILY: Oh, he’s already in the past, relegated to oblivion?

MARSHA: Sure.

EMILY: Poor bastard. Can you do the list of my boyfriends?

MARSHA: No.

EMILY: You really can’t? Try to get a couple.

MARSHA: Lord Alistair Brooke.

EMILY: Very good start.

MARSHA: Alfred Dreyer, Michael Christy, Philippe Rocheau, Nathan Fass, Ted McCortney, Howard Nelson, Von Huffedicker.

EMILY: Who’s Von Huffedicker?

MARSHA: Von something, from last year.

EMILY: Oh yeah, that guy.

MARSHA: She doesn’t even remember her own men.

EMILY: There’s an obvious one you’re forgetting.

MARSHA: Roy Imber. Then there’s Merrill Johnston which you never told me about.

EMILY: Uh-oh.

MARSHA: There are some early ones I won’t possibly get.

EMILY: Armand Pascal, even though we didn’t have actual intercourse.

MARSHA: Did I leave out any of the recent ones?

EMILY: You left out a lot of them — Keira, Ted Mosher, John Orwell. I can’t remember any others.

MARSHA: I didn’t do that badly.

EMILY: I don’t think there are any others. It’s not possible, is it, that that’s it? I have the list somewhere.

MARSHA: I hate my list, I’m bored to death with it.

EMILY: It’s not that I’m bored, it’s just that if that’s what my thirty years are all about, I could puke.

MARSHA: It’s so fucking meaningless the way I can recite those names.

EMILY: I could puke. You know Joan analyzed why you make all those lists of the men, she said by doing it, you completely castrate them, they all become equalized, one is just as important or unimportant as any other.

MARSHA: That’s interesting.

EMILY: It is. I can’t do your recent list, except for Tim Cullen. I can’t think of anyone else.

MARSHA: There is nobody else.

EMILY: I don’t remember who my last bout was with.

MARSHA: What’s a bout?

EMILY: My promiscuity bout.

MARSHA: How many were there in it?

EMILY: Exactly fifteen in the batch-bout.

MARSHA: Boy, you really scored them up. Were there ever two in one night?

EMILY: Well, there were many night after night. I slept with a lot of men then, Marsha, and they’re all like meaningless empty faces now, I don’t remember them. I know their names, but they don’t mean anything. That was very hard for me, you know, because I’m not promiscuous by nature. I feel very little guilt about it, but it was definitely part of my masochism. Another thing that’s been on my mind is how did I get to all the parties I went to last year? What was I doing?

MARSHA: You were going to parties. Emily, we’ve got to figure out something for this year to avoid that. It’s okay for you with your Wars and your Hols and your Roys and your Rays, but I’m really not interested. It’s a dead end.

EMILY: It’s not a dead end, darling, nothing is. I met a great many people this past year, Marsha, but I was so sick and so closed that it didn’t mean anything. Like there’s no reason in the world why we couldn’t have met someone at that John Orwell party.

MARSHA: There was one reason.

EMILY: Because there was no one to meet?

MARSHA: No.

EMILY: Because we were with Vinnie?

MARSHA: We absolutely clung to him, you were hovering around him just the way I was.

EMILY: There was no one else to hover around.

MARSHA: If you stood by yourself, there would have been.

EMILY: All right, so what do we do? I have so much anxiety as it is about this year. There’s nothing in the theatre world, I’ll tell you that.

MARSHA: Do you think I’d want to marry an actor?

EMILY: No, but there are certain people, television writers, producers, those kind of guys, who are very interesting.

MARSHA: Yeah, but how do you get to them?

EMILY: Well let’s see what I do with my career, honya, let’s see how I hustle. There’s also the literary world — there are a lot of men in the literary world.

MARSHA: Hi, Jonquil darling, you love me more than your Emmy, don’t you?

EMILY: What do you think’s going to happen this weekend?

MARSHA: Very little, I have a feeling.

EMILY: Listen, darling, there are going to be a lot of parties.

MARSHA: Yeah, and we won’t hear about them until the following day.

EMILY: Jonquil, where are you, sweetie? Come here. She’s so fucking feminine, it’s heartbreaking. I love her little chirping.

MARSHA: Why don’t you get a bird and save yourself a lot of trouble?

EMILY: It’s ridiculous, she really chirps. I was sure you’d fall in love with her. It took you a long time, but you finally succeeded.

MARSHA: You know I’m a slow starter.

VINCENT: That thing last night about being cocky was very cruel, darling.

MARSHA: It’s just that you don’t word things very nicely, and they do come out cocky.

VINCENT: We’re supposed to look beyond words. I was trying to tell you what a rare moment it was, because you inspire me to feel things I haven’t felt since I was an adolescent, and then you say you’re getting cocky and presumptuous.

MARSHA: I’m going into the other room to work a little before dinner. Don’t start whispering about me.

VINCENT: Marsha, Merrill Johnston is right around the corner. If you continue like this, I’ll call him up and we’ll take your head to Southampton Hospital. I’ll tell you one thing I hate, Emily, this cat’s food all over the place. You know I’m a reasonable man.

EMILY: You really are, but please don’t pick on me when it’s only two days away from my thirtieth birthday.

VINCENT: Emily, all this stuff about your thirtieth birthday is very very weird. I’m really getting sad.